Breakdown
by Unliteration
Summary: The Utonium family is divided. Will they ever again find peace together? Sixth in the Ladder series.
1. Desolation

Breakdown: Wherein all else fails.

Chapter 1

[Desolation]

Professor had only lost a little more than a day of memory. This meant the failsafe systems were working as expected and designed.

Not that he'd truly ever expected them to be used.

He gained precious little insight from the surveillance videos or sweeping through his house for evidence. Certainly, it seemed a small avalanche of events had happened, but the fact they had happened was almost immaterial.

What mattered was that he did not know where his girls were.

Or his car.

Or his corpse.

He flexed his hand within the sleek, white, metallic glove. Actuators and servos whirred underneath, inaudible save for the sound amplification features of his helmet.

This super suit was more recent than what he'd used in his exploits as "Powerprof." A bit more advanced but, more importantly, specialized.

In his backyard, a trapdoor beneath the grass lifted and slid aside. A fiery "fwoosh" accompanied his launch into the sky before the trapdoor closed, leaving no trace of itself.

There was one place to check first. The abandoned train station a few blocks from his house. Somehow a favorite destination of hers. Of the girl that should never have existed.

Professor swooped down through the skylight. A once beautiful work of curved iron and glass, now largely shattered and rusty. Lights on either side of his helmet lit up as he walked into the dark, hillside tunnel. Gravel crunched in protest as he walked upon it.

And there he found the body, lying still in the sealed-off tunnel. Blood, dried in most places, stained its white labcoat.

Bullet wounds. Roughly a dozen. The super suit's analysis indicated a small caliber handgun. His common sense suggested the empty handgun lying nearby was involved.

He recognized it at his own. The handgun and body alike.

Most of those shots had gone into his head.

That body marked the third time he had come here, but the first he had died. He could imagine growing complacent. Overconfident. The first two times, he'd managed to stop her. She'd demonstrated that she might return here time and again. It seemed any escape attempt she made would quickly and easily end here.

Perhaps he'd been lured into a trap all along. With her, he could never be certain.

Professor knelt down and rifled through his former self's pockets. More to embrace and accept the physical reality of his own death, than for lack of trust in his suit's scanning systems. His search found nothing of value.

Professor lifted his right arm, panels opening to reveal a small tube underneath. He blasted the body with white-hot fire.

Almost a minute later, he stopped. The tunnel was still brightly lit, on account of the walls, gravel, and rail glowing hot. A blackened, ashy skeleton remained.

With those head wounds, there would be no recovering memories from that body anyway.

Professor raised his left hand now. A burst of white light flashed, scattering gravel and bone with a low "thwump" sound. The bone mostly disintegrated at this point. After the discharge, the shrill whine of a super-capacitor's recharging filled the silence.

He paused for just a moment to mourn. He'd miss that body. After all, it had been the original.

But if replacements were good enough for his girls, they were good enough for him.

* * *

Author's Forward:

The Utonium family is split. Professor on one side, Blossom and Bubbles on another, and their sister caught up in schemes drawn out years ago. Is it possible to forgive the most terrible of wrongs? Once love has turned to hate, fear, and disdain, can it ever turn back? Will anyone survive long enough to find out?

 _Breakdown_ is the sixth entry of a study in horror—the _Ladder_ series. While some entries are intended to stand alone, _Breakdown_ is not. The story should be understandable to newcomers, but some elements will seem strange or out-of-place without seeing how they came to be. New readers are encouraged to read _Project Rebreather_ at the least. They are, of course, welcome to start at the beginning with _Ladder_ as well.

Each story in the series examines a different form of horror. Horror does not always inspire fright, nor does it always try. _Breakdown_ is, at its heart, an exploration of escape and isolation. A desperate bid to flee an omnipresent, dangerous force.

Other stories in the series examine horror from other perspectives. Each has a different focus and a different "feel." However, they all continue the same story line, and they were all written with the assistance of mood-setting music.

These stories list a musical accompaniment that is entirely optional, but which the reader is encouraged to follow. Although not a crossover with Silent Hill, its music and music inspired by it includes some of the most beautiful, haunting melodies this author has heard. Readers who have taken the time to find these albums and songs (many freely and legally available online) have expressed their happiness in doing so.

I personally dislike reading (and try to avoid writing) certain things. Well-established characters acting out-of-character without good reason or explanation. Grittiness and death as an alternative to telling a story. It's up to you, dear reader, to judge my success or failure in these regards.

Suggested listening, presented in the order they are used:

01 — Desolation (Broken Notes Unedited)

02 — No Promise (Essentia)

03 — Between Heaven and Hell (Broken Notes Unreleased)

04 — Innocent Times (Ashes of Bitterness)

05 — Tears of Angels (Broken Notes Sanatorium 2)

06 — Drowned Memories (Essentia)

07 — Sundown (Endless Delusions)

08 — Tight Chains – No Way Out (Ashes of Bitterness)

09 — Moments Of Inner Peace (Essentia)

10 — Black Pages (Soiled Shores)

11 — Haunted – Roof (Ashes of Bitterness)

12 — Servants of Fear (Endless Delusions)

13 — Screaming Flux (Broken Notes Unedited)

14 — Crimson Paintings (Ashes of Bitterness)

15 — Anywhere But Here (Soiled Shores)

16 — Shattered Waltz (Broken Notes Sanatorium 2)

17 — Atone (Broken Notes Extremitas 1)

18 — Blood Curse (Broken Notes Extremitas 2)

19 — Torn Angelus (Soiled Shores)

20 — Ex Umbra (Soiled Shores)

21 — The Diary (Essentia)

22 — Room of Angel Remix (Broken Notes Extremitas 2)

23 — Room of Angel (Silent Hill 4)


	2. No Promise

Chapter 2

[No Promise]

Blossom paused for just a moment. She needed to think. She was so tired. So, so tired.

The rustic smell of the old farmhouse was both off-putting and inviting. Unfamiliar, but filled with the heady aromas of wood, earth, and crisp spring air. She wanted so badly to just return to the bed and sleep. She'd been awake for more than a day now, and further spent with all the adrenaline that had surged in that time.

But they had to keep moving. Ashley had said so.

Blossom stopped to look at the crude crayon drawing one more time. It guided them somewhere roughly north of the farmhouse, to a river or stream in the forest. It said they had to leave by noon.

It was only a little after eight o'clock, but Blossom wasn't going to dawdle further. She folded the paper and stuffed it into the hiking backpack they'd found in the attic. It sat on the kitchen table, whose messy contents they'd swept onto the floor to make room. There was no consideration paid to the farm's former occupant, whom Bubbles knew had been dead and buried long before their visit.

She and the other girls wore their typical PowerPuff attire, though these days they often preferred plain street clothes. At the apparent age of eleven, they had some consideration for appearance and fashion sense. Mostly, they liked to separate what little personal life they had from their crime fighting work.

There had been no time to pack, or to change. One moment they'd been flying around. Soon after, they were depowered and captured by their own father. From what she could gather, Professor believed they were damaged or defective in some way. As far as Blossom could tell, there was nothing wrong with her save for what Professor might have inflicted.

Fortunately, Blossom was merely exhausted. However, Bubbles was not so lucky. Even now she remained at the sink, trying to scrub her hand clean. Occasionally she whimpered in pain. A gash ran the length of her palm, which had been soaked in thick, black grease. Consequence of a snapped elevator cable.

Blossom knew Bubbles needed stitches. She didn't know how to give them, or have the materials to do so.

They were banking on their powers returning before the wound became a problem. They still carried vials of Chemical X laced with a powerful sedative. They dare not use them, but if they contained Chemical X they dare not dispose of them. The last thing they needed to do was create a powerful monster out of something down the drain or in a ditch.

Their last exposure to Antidote X had come less than twelve hours ago, but given time it would work its way out of their system. A few days, likely.

Blossom shook the fog from her head. There were more immediate concerns.

She checked the contents of the bag again. A pair of blankets—thin, wiry, and wooly. A small, metal whiskey flask they'd filled with gasoline from the garage. A large box of matches, almost empty. A wine bottle, corked and filled with well water. A small pot. Six bags of instant ramen noodles. Three sets of utensils. A hunting knife. There was still room. What could they add?

A voice, rough but feminine, asked, "Should we grab some of the farmer's clothes?"

Blossom looked up. She would have sworn up and down that Buttercup stood before her, if she didn't know that wasn't true. Buttercup was dead.

Technically, they all were. Dead, gone, and replaced with copies. None-the-wiser until they began piecing together the truth. But why this person was some strange mix of Buttercup and a forgotten child named Ashley, Blossom didn't know.

"That's a good idea. See if there are any coats or jackets first, though."

"Got it," Ashley said. She was a bit more chipper than the others, having slept on the ride down. Almost all of last night, Blossom had struggled to drive a car for the first time. Bubbles knew of this place, but struggled to give Blossom directions in the dark.

Now Blossom struggled even to think coherently.

"The car...we should check the car for anything useful," she said.

Bubbles said, "Good ide—ouch!" She stopped to suck in air through her teeth.

Blossom asked, "Are you sure you should still be messing with that?"

"This may be the last time we have clean water. Assuming this counts as clean water. Did you find any bandages, by the way?"

Blossom shook her head before she realized Bubbles's back was turned. "No, we haven't. Maybe we should check this guy's vehicle, too?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. I'll give this a rest for now." She turned around and picked up a rubber cleaning glove, to replace the dirty latex glove she'd removed earlier. She winced while pulling it over her still-wet hand. She left her other hand bare. "I'll go check the cars."

"Thanks."

Ashley returned soon after with a pair of light jackets and a heavy winter coat. "There's also some boots, but I don't think they'd fit us. Mostly it's grody old tank tops and blue jeans."

"These will be good. I wish we had another backpack."

Blossom looked at the two rolled-up bundles on the floor beside the kitchen table: a one-person pup tent and a thin, foam bedroll. Their straps held them tight, but were useless for carrying them. Now they'd found jackets she really wanted as well, but couldn't fit into the hiking backpack. A backpack designed for a full-grown man rather than an eleven-year-old girl.

She sighed.

Ashley wrapped her arms around Blossom, hugging her from behind. Her arms were peppered with small flecks of red scabs. Blossom hoped there wasn't any glass left in those wounds.

"It's okay, mommy. We're supposed to be here, right? Everything's gotta be okay in the end, right?"

Blossom smiled, though still listless. Apparently, in some period of time that Professor had stripped from her memories, she'd created another girl to fill the hole left by Buttercup's death. A loss of which she had only the vaguest of memories. Buttercup suffered a severe head wound in the process of destroying an alien spacecraft far from Earth. A series of not-quite-remembered tragedies later claimed Blossom and Bubbles.

As for the new girl, Blossom had named her "Ashley." Ashley called her "mommy." More than that, she could not recall. As if those memories had been scrubbed clean more thoroughly than her recollections of Buttercup's passing.

She patted Ashley's arm appreciatively. It still felt awkward to be so affectionate with the person who was, to her senses, Buttercup. At the same time, it was somehow comforting and soothed her much-worn-out heart.

Blossom said, "I still wish I knew why we had to leave. I mean...if Professor's dead..."

"I told you, I don't remember. But I trust her."

"Her," she had said. Another Ashley from another time. Dead and forgotten. Just like Blossom had forgotten parts of her past, Ashley had lost parts of hers. But somehow, past and present incarnations of Ashley had cooperated to piece together an amazing escape.

Blossom said, "You said you can sometimes 'remember' things that haven't happened yet. Do you remember anything like that right now?"

Pressed close as they were, Blossom felt Ashley shake her head. "No. It doesn't work like it used to. Mostly it's just dreams, now, and they're really fuzzy. Not very far. I don't really remember how it used to be, but I know it's not the same."

Blossom's mind wandered, as it often did when she was tired and near sleep. By the time she blurted out, "Hey! Does he have any suitcases?" she'd already forgotten what they were talking about. She turned around, ending the embrace and facing her sister/daughter.

"I think maybe under the bed there was one."

"Good. You pack the coats in there. I'm going to help Bubbles check the cars. Do you...do you think you can look around and recognize things we might need?"

Ashley scowled in a very Buttercup-like way, and replied in a very Buttercup-like tone. "What am I, a baby? Ashley might have only been a few days old, but I'm not."

Blossom winced and smiled awkwardly. As childlike as Ashley's words and actions were becoming, it was easy to forget that they'd all been convinced Ashley was really Buttercup. Including Ashley herself. "Sorry, I'm just..."

Ashley smiled and hugged her again. "Don't worry about it. I'll help however I can."

Out in the barn, Bubbles had torn apart the trunk and removed the spare tire. It sat beside their dad's car, and on top of it rested a bright, red first aid kit. Bubbles was currently nosing about the cabin of the car.

"Find anything?" Blossom asked.

Bubbles slid out of the passenger seat. "Just the first aid kit and some tools I don't think we'll need out in the woods. Are there any parts that could be useful?"

"Well, the battery for starting fires, but it's so heavy and we do have matches... I can't think of anything else. Any containers?"

"Nope. Did you find the keys to the farmer's truck?"

Blossom winced again. "Right. Forgot to look. I'll be right back."

Bubbles pointed at pile of tools standing up in a corner. "There's a sledgehammer over there. Trust me, that old truck wouldn't have an alarm. Maybe it'll feel good. Just be careful for glass."

Blossom nodded. At this point, she didn't care. She picked up an errant twig and brushed cobwebs away from the tools before carefully extracting the sledge. Then she paused to look at the remaining implements.

"Have you seen a shovel anywhere?"

"No, but there's more stuff lying around. Why?"

"I dunno. Maybe for...digging a latrine or something."

"Ew. But I guess not having one would be more 'ew.' I'll keep an eye out."

Perhaps it was oncoming drowsiness or a micro-sleep, but for a moment Blossom could imagine Bubbles with a medical bandage wrapped around one of her eyes. "Eye out," indeed.

Blossom shook her head clear, nodded, and carried the heavy hammer outside. The dead farmer's pickup truck sat rusting in the sun. The bed of the truck was as good as empty, filled with rotting leaves and some small things Blossom was quite sure she didn't care to investigate further. She climbed into the truck bed and steadied herself before swinging the hammer.

The glass of the rear window shattered pleasantly.


	3. Between Heaven and Hell

Chapter 3

[Between Heaven and Hell]

Professor flew well above the highways. His car had an anti-theft system that included a GPS tracking device. When there had been no signal, he'd instead looked up its last known location.

After flying in that direction for a while, his own suit was able to pick up the faint signal. He was both surprised and not when he learned the location.

Fred Johnson's farm. Professor had come out here only once, late in the night. A widowed farmer who had retreated from the world. Though he was not proud of his part in it, Professor took some comfort in the farmer's death contributing some good to the world.

To the world, Fred Johnson was missing and believed to be the Harvester. A serial killer with superpowers. At the moment, nobody knew the Harvester had actually been Bubbles. Nobody but him, at least. It's possible Bubbles had pieced it together somehow, if her memories were starting to return, but he doubted it.

Poor Bubbles. So hurt. So lost. Professor wanted to take that pain away. Take it all away and make his family whole again.

Maybe that's why they'd come out here. Searching for answers. All Professor knew was that, somehow, they'd managed to access his secret computer account. Protected with a password the girls could never, ever guess. Yet, according to the video recordings, they'd mentioned reading his research notes. They hadn't had time enough to read everything, but any amount was too much.

It was Ashley again. It had to be. Somehow, despite building a set of memories from scratch without any part of Ashley in them, she had survived. His girls also had some kind of "bodily memory." Perhaps related to an undiscovered ability to regenerate their entire body from a single drop of blood, as some supers were rumored to be capable of. He'd had some success in scrubbing those memories clean, but perhaps not enough.

If she was alive again...if she had devoured Buttercup and taken over... Well, there was no hope for this incarnation of Blossom and Bubbles. Ashley would twist and manipulate them however she pleased, with an otherworldly ease that even now felt wholly unnatural to him. But rather than fear and revulsion, the thought filled him with rage. He'd long lost any sympathy for that girl. That thing.

He had to find them. Find them before Ashley caused who knew what trouble. Find them before the world discovered what he was doing and criticized him for it. Once his girls were back, all would be forgiven. They would believe his lie that his girls had never died, only gone into a deep, healing sleep. A fairy tale ending.

But first, this batch had to be terminated.

Professor swooped in low. Scanners detected his car in a barn and displayed an outline of it through the wall. The gas tank was nearly empty, the rear passenger side tire was a little low, and one of the spark plug gaps was three micrometers too wide for maximum fuel economy.

There were no signs of life at the moment, in the barn or house.

He landed in front of the barn first. The car had been ransacked and abandoned. Searched for supplies. He saw cobwebs and dust had been disturbed as they'd searched parts of the barn itself.

The house was no better. Drawers and cabinets thrown open. The kitchen sink had an oily residue and, according to the suit, a faint smell of gasoline.

He frowned and wondered at their absense. Might they have changed vehicles?

No, the truck was still here. He didn't recall Fred owning more than one vehicle.

Had someone accompanied them, and they left in their car?

No, the fresh tire tracks on the dirt and gravel were clearly from a single vehicle, leading straight into the garage and nowhere else.

So they'd gone on foot. Assuming they drove straight here, all through the night, and packed up immediately, they'd have at most six or seven hours lead time. Eight if they drove well above the speed limit.

Assuming a generous average of three miles per hour on foot, that was a search radius of up to twenty miles. And counting. More than a thousand square miles. In another hour, the better part of two thousand. By nightfall, more than six thousand.

On the other hand, if they'd walked back to the highway and hitchhiked, they could be as good as gone already.

"Hmm," Professor hummed deeply. He considered whether it made sense to revive more copies of himself to cover more ground. Memories were easily copied, after all, and he had a few other spare bodies in waiting. Maybe they could even rock-paper-scissors to see who got to live when it was done. Professor was okay with it, which meant they would be as well.

Sadly, there was only one super suit. Now that he considered this, a spare suit sounded like a really good idea. Maybe next time, if there ever needed to be a next time. In an ideal future, he'd return to writing research papers and the girls would take care of the superheroics.

Just not this set of girls.

Professor noticed a pile of mail on the table, conspicuous only for its wrinkled appearance. Touched by rain and dried time and again, it had probably sat in the mail box for months before being brought in.

On top of the pile was an envelope, torn open. Professor picked it up, hoping for a clue.

The return address was his own house.

For a few moments, he stopped breathing. He read the postmark. It was more than a year old.

Professor pulled his lip back in a sneer, then gritted his teeth and cried in wordless rage. He closed his fist over the envelope and slammed the table, cracking it in two.

The old Ashley. The original. It was possible today's problems were still her doing. It was possible he still had Buttercup. Maybe it wasn't too late.

No. It was too late. Regardless of whether he now searched for Ashley, Buttercup, or some mix of the two, this round of project Clean Slate had to end. It was too compromised to continue.

But he still hoped. If he had scrubbed Ashley out of existence already, then all these problems were the doing of someone gone and dead. Someone with finite time and resources to ruin the future. Her reach could extend only so far.

He glared at the envelope in his hand, delivered to a spot hundreds of miles from Townsville.

How far had that reach already extended?


	4. Innocent Times

Chapter 4

[Innocent Times]

"But I'm saying it's funny!" Bubbles insisted. She and her sisters were ascending a small bank in the forest, grabbing on to roots and undergrowth to pull themselves up to the bags they'd tossed above. Ashley still wore the hiking backpack, but had tossed her shovel up the bank to free her hands.

Ashley replied, "And I'm saying it's stupid!"

Blossom smiled. At times like this, she could hardly tell this wasn't Buttercup.

Bubbles sat on the top of the bank, having reached it first. Ashley was too encumbered and Blossom too careful. Or perhaps Bubbles simply wanted to get the pain in her hand over with. She shook her wrist, as if to shake off the sting. The rubber cleaning glove from under the kitchen sink still covered her injured hand. A poor substitute for a bandage, but better than nothing.

Bubbles said, "Well, I think Buttercup would have thought it was funny."

Blossom's foot slid in the dirt, losing progress. She examined her routes again, considering a surge forward.

Ashley grunted, grabbing at what she thought was a root. It turned out to be a fallen branch, rotting in the dirt and undergrowth. She lost all progress when it pulled free from the dirt. Her frustration was magnified when she replied, "Well, I'm not Buttercup, and I think it's stupid!"

Blossom shook her head and abandoned her spot. Maybe they should have just walked around, even if it would have taken some extra time. Mostly, she was worried about losing her path. The forest canopy was growing thicker and the sun harder to track.

She stood behind the frustrated Ashley and said, "You run, I'll push you up."

Ashley nodded and ran for it. Blossom was right behind, pushing up on her bottom and the backpack.

Bubbles reflexively reached out and grabbed Ashley to help pull her up. They succeeded, then Bubbles sucked in a breath through her teeth and froze up. She held her wrist as if to stop the pain from flowing past, wishing she'd had the presence-of-mind to use her good hand to help Ashley instead.

"Are you okay?" Blossom and Ashley asked at the same time, from the bottom and the top of the bank.

After a few more seconds of motionlessness, Bubbles huffed out a breath and said, "Yeah, I just wasn't thinking. I'll be okay."

"I'm sorry," Ashley said, sounding hurt almost to the point of tears.

"It's not your fault." Then, coyly, "I'll forgive you so long as you let me call you 'Bashley.'"

Ashley scowled.

Blossom took a running start and finally climbed to the side opposite Bubbles. "Whew." Blossom looked at the tent bag and bedroll resting on the ground and asked, "Bubbles, do you want us to re-tie your stuff now or wait a bit?"

"Now's fine," Bubbles said. She put her weight on her good hand and rose to her feet, turning her back to them.

They'd used a length of rope to tie the bedroll and tent onto Bubbles's back. It had worked well for the first ten minutes or so, and not too well after that. They'd had to stop and adjust things a few times along the way. Hopefully if they tied it all from scratch they'd have better luck.

In particular, Bubbles needed her hands free to carry the shotgun, which had a small flashlight perched on its barrel. Apparently it had been a symbolic gift from Mr. Morbucks to Professor, to shoot the Harvester if he were ever found. More specifically, to shoot whoever had killed their daughters. Thus far, neither Bubbles nor Professor had fallen victim to it. At least, not in any life they could remember.

Ashley held the cargo in place while Blossom worked the rope.

Ashley asked, "Do you think it's funny?"

Blossom smiled. "I know Buttercup hated to be teased, and it sounds like teasing. But, with all her destructive qualities, 'Bashley' would be kind of a fitting name. And that's ignoring that you're apparently a little of both." Blossom shook her head and started over with the rope. The loops hadn't gone quite like she imaged in her head.

"But I said I wanna be called Ashley."

"I know, and we will. Bubbles is just having some fun and wants you to have it with her." This was looking better. Maybe she could tie the bedroll to Bubbles's back, then use the leftover rope to tie the tent below that?

"Oh," Bubbles announced, somber.

"What's wrong?" Blossom asked.

"It's...nothing. I just remembered... I just remembered how she got her name, I think."

Blossom tried to think about it. A few seconds later, she made the connection. A school chemistry lab. Dark. A pot of ingredients. A little splash of Chemical X waiting to be used.

And a bit of Buttercup's funerary ashes.

Blossom paled a bit, continuing to work the ropes in silence. Professor had removed many memories of the time after Buttercup's death, but slowly they surfaced. Especially with helpful reminders.

Bubbles asked, "So are you more Ashley or more Buttercup?"

"I dunno what you mean. Like, how?"

"I don't know. Your memories? Your personality? What do you think?"

"I think I'm not Buttercup. I remember stuff, and I remember how she's supposed to be, but I don't think I ever really could have been her. I don't really know Ashley well, either, but I... I don't know. If I'm not Buttercup, I have to be her, right?"

Blossom said, "Don't take this the wrong way, but at first we couldn't really tell the difference."

Bubbles added, "But in hindsight it was kind of obvious. Buttercup was never that friendly."

"Plus, the fact you couldn't remember even one of your favorite comic books was suspicious."

Ashley admitted, "Well, Consortium of Justice is pretty good." She'd discovered Buttercup's massive piles of comic books, believing them to be her own but recognizing nothing but Spore. Nothing but the one comic her sisters vaguely remembered her loving as a child.

Bubbles asked, "What's up with that, anyway? Blossom and I haven't noticed any missing memories, except from the time we all lost. Nothing from earlier in our lives."

Blossom agreed. "I really wish we'd read more of Professor's research notes before we escaped, but we know this much: He's...growing new bodies and implanting memories in them."

She paused for a moment to figure out a knot and consider the implications of her statement. "The... The original versions of us are probably still down in the lab somewhere. And we know Buttercup really, really died and was cremated, so there's no body. If Professor can grow eleven-year-old versions of my body and yours, he can probably do it for Ashley, too. But if he's trying to erase the 'hard times' he says we all had, I guess there couldn't be an Ashley at all. So maybe he tried to make a new Buttercup instead. Since they're the same on the outside."

"Oh," Bubbles said. "And without Buttercup's body, he didn't have her memories, so... So he made them up?"

"Doubtful. I don't think that amount of history and personal information can just be made up. It had to have come from somewhere... More than likely, he used a blend of your memory and mine—and maybe even his own—to recreate the Buttercup we all remembered."

"Wow. That's totally messed up. And sad."

Ashley said, "Tell me about it." She now held the tent bag for Blossom to tie up.

Bubbles continued, "I mean, there's way more to everyone than just what everyone else sees. There's the person on the outside, and everyone gets to see it a little differently. Then there's the person on the inside, that maybe nobody's ever gotten to see."

"Well, my person on the inside is Ashley. So I guess that's okay. I just don't like 'Bashley' because I'm not both of them. I don't know if I'm either of them. All I know is I love Blossom, think of her like my mom more than my sister, and have a teensy bit of Ashley's future-seeing mojo. Plus, like you said, this body probably was grown from hers."

Blossom asked, "Still no idea what we should do next?"

"Nope. Maybe once our powers come back I'll get back into the zone. Feel when things click. Until then, I'm following her trail blind, same as you."

"'Her?' Not 'your?'"

"I feel more like an Ashley than a Buttercup, but I'm not. Not the real one. But they're all dead and gone anyhow, so it's up to us to live our own lives our own way. We can't let it bother us or think we're fakes or that we don't matter. Do you understand?"

Bubbles, gingerly testing the stability of her newly-tied load, asked, "Like the way Professor thinks of us?"

"Don't you mean, 'thought of us?'" Blossom asked tentatively. They all knew Professor was dead, but Bubbles had been the one do it. She'd saved their lives, but it was not a pleasant experience for her.

Bubbles explained, "Yeah? Well, Ashley's drawing sent us packing before we could catch our breath. What else could be so important we had to get a move on this fast? We're more tired than I've ever been—which is half of why 'Bashley' sounds so funny—and worn out and starving and we still haven't found this river."

"I dunno," Ashley said. "He looked pretty dead to me."

Bubbles frowned. "So do our originals, I bet."

Blossom shook her head. "There's nothing we can do about it now, anyway. Maybe there's another Professor, just like there's another us. Maybe he's looking for us. Maybe he even implanted trackers in our bodies—"

"Not that I noticed," Bubbles said. "And I looked pretty hard after Butter—after Ashley pointed out the security cameras hidden in the walls. Not that trackers make sense, anyway. What if we hadn't turned out to be another 'failed' experiment? Either we might notice them someday or he'd have to take them out without us noticing."

Ashley grumped. "You say that like he'd ever think we were good enough."

"Regardless," Blossom interjected, "my point was that we don't know anything and there's nothing we can do but keep moving. That and be grateful we'll probably be so tired that it won't matter how uncomfortable it is to sleep on the ground."

Bubbles asked, "I wonder if we should have stopped to eat before tying this back to me?"

Blossom frowned and put a hand on her stomach. "Maybe. If I weren't so tired I might have considered it."

Ashley shrugged. "You said we can do without food longer than water. We've only missed...two meals?"

Blossom looked at the sky. Through the canopy, it was clear that clouds were moving in. Mostly light, but dark in patches. Perhaps another spring rain loomed. For all she knew, they had to get moving before a tornado ripped through the farmhouse or it got struck by lightning and burned down. Maybe her dad really was gone for good. She wasn't sure either answer would make her happy.

Blossom was pulled back to reality by Bubbles. "It doesn't matter, anyway. I'm all ready to go, so let's go. This rope does feel a lot more secure, by the way. Thanks, girls."

Blossom smiled. "I hope it holds up this time. Ashley, do you want any help with your backpack?"

"Nah, I think I'm getting the hang of it now." She leaned against a tree so she could adjust its height and pull together straps in the front to better secure it. She propped the shovel against her shoulder like a soldier would a rifle.

Blossom picked up the suitcase, sighing discontentedly. By now, both her hands were getting tired of carrying it, no matter how often she switched.

Distantly, thunder rumbled.


	5. Tears of Angels

Chapter 5

[Tears of Angels]

Professor grunted in frustration, trying to wipe the rain from his visor. He knew he'd forgotten something in this helmet design. With his hands and arms covered in super suit, trying to wipe it clear was a wasted effort.

For a few moments he opened the visor to see more clearly. Rain pelted and soaked his face almost immediately, and in the downpour he couldn't see very far. The forest north of the farmland seemed like an ideal place to start searching, but the thick canopy and thicker rainfall made this a wasted effort. He needed long-range scanners. This suit was designed more for the destroy half of a search-and-destroy mission. Designed with the assumption his girls had their powers, had gone rogue, and were most certainly not in hiding.

The visor lowered again. A surge of white energy spewed from his feet and calves as he rocketed upwards, above the clouds. The water turned to ice, but he had more success swatting and smashing it away than he had when it was liquid.

Surveying the clouds below, he wondered how long it would take for them to pass. Then he glanced at the sun, relatively low in the sky. By the time the storm passed it would be almost dark.

After a curt growl, Professor dove down through the clouds and flew back to his home as fast as he could. Today was a failure. He had to accept that. Blindly bumbling around the countryside hoping for a lucky break was not the answer.

The rain had not yet reached Townsville. Again the trapdoor parted his neatly-trimmed grass, and soon he landed in the lower labs.

He could spend all evening and all night searching, or he could spend that time making modifications to his suit.

* * *

"Forget the stakes!" Blossom ordered. The rain was starting to come down harder, wind threatening to blow away their tent if not for the baggage within. "Get inside!"

Moments later, the three of them crowded into the pup tent, uncomfortably close. They were not quite soaked, but they were wet and uncomfortable. Wet locks of hair clung to their faces.

Rain pelted the thin layer separating them from the storm. In the dim, dying light they could see the drops land and then roll away. Soon, the rain came hard and steady enough there was no telling where one drop ended and another began.

Bubbles sighed and reached up to untie her hair. She winced, possibly from the unintentional use of her injured hand.

Ashley leaned away to put some extra distance between Bubbles's elbow and her face. "So what do we have to eat, then?"

Blossom frowned. Although past-Ashley's drawing had depicted a riverside campsite complete with campfire, there would be no fire in this storm.

She lay on her side to reach the backpack resting behind Ashley. Between the three of them, the backpack, the suitcase, the still-rolled bedroll, and the shotgun, Blossom wondered how she found room to breathe.

The suitcase and backpack had been stuffed to the brim. By the time Blossom finished digging around, she wished she could just keep lying on her side and sleep. But she was so hungry.

Her hand finally touched the soft plastic it sought. Blossom pulled out a half-empty, bear-shaped bottle of honey.

"Here," Blossom offered, raising her voice to be heard over the storm. "Until we can get a fire started, that's all we really have."

Ashley held the bottle in her lap, staring morosely.

Bubbles asked, "Can we even build a fire tomorrow? I mean, with dry wood?"

Blossom frowned, looking around the tent and imagining the surrounding area. They were perched on a small, grassy plateau almost twenty feet from the river's edge. Water running off from the hillside behind them should flow around it rather than under their tent.

Just below the plateau was the rocky bank of the river. The riverbed was mostly clear of debris. The river itself was barely a stream at this stretch. Perhaps thirty feet across at its widest, thigh-deep at its deepest, the water nevertheless flowed fast enough to push someone off their feet if they didn't step carefully.

Aside from the river area, there were trees all around. Passing fallen branches and twigs was common while they hiked. Most of it would be hit hard by tonight's rains, and Blossom expected thick, dark, attention-grabbing smoke would accompany any successful fire.

Blossom now also stared at the honey bear, frowning.

They spent the next ten minutes in silence, letting their experiences wash over them as the rain washed over the tent. They hadn't had much time to ponder the strange turns in their lives. By and large, the more they did ponder them, the more they were grateful for being too busy and/or too tired to think.

They passed the honey bear around in stoic melancholy, like grizzled veterans sharing a bottle of something stronger.

They pursed their lips and smacked their tongues after every pass, working to remove the taste from their mouth and waiting until they were desperate enough for another go. When they put it away, it was now only a quarter full.

They took careful sips of well water from the wine bottle, emptying it and still wishing for so much more. With no fire to boil water, they'd have to hope the river was clean enough to not make them ill before their powers returned.

Blossom's weariness was plain, struggling to speak loudly enough to be heard over the storm. The only thing on her mind right now was a long-overdue sleep. "All right. Let's set the backpack behind us. We should wear the coats and jackets to keep warm."

"Who gets the bedroll?" Bubbles asked. She was pulling the coats from the suitcase.

Blossom imagined putting it in the middle. Then imagined lying next to it—forced to either sleep pressed against the edge of the tent or to lie uncomfortably, half-on and half-off the bedroll. "Let's turn it sideways and see if we can all get at least our hips or shoulders on it."

Ashley asked, "Can we move the softer stuff in the backpack to one side to turn it into a pillow?"

Blossom ran through her mental inventory of the bag. There wasn't really a lot of soft stuff in there. "I don't think so."

Several awkward, bumpy minutes later, they wondered who ever thought Twister would be a fun game.

When the dust had settled, Ashley lay in the middle. A side pouch of the backpack was stuffed with farmer Fred's socks (many of them probably unwashed), and served as her pillow. The other girls had nothing.

Before Blossom drifted off, Bubbles removed her coat long enough to take off everything except her undergarments, making her clothes into a sad, makeshift pillow.

"Ashley, can I have two pairs of socks for my feet?"

She sighed and rolled over, bumping Blossom to full wakefulness in the process.

With Ashley's own pillow diminished from the donation, after a few minutes she decided to follow Bubbles's lead and disrobe as well.

Blossom then did the same, and they settled in yet again.

A few minutes after that, Bubbles said, "I have to pee."

Blossom tried to stifle a laugh, though a burst escaped through her nose. After that, several more. Then she couldn't hold back any longer and started laughing.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe it was Bubbles's despondent, defeated tone. Whatever the case, the three of them couldn't help but laugh.

After they were largely spent, their three voices intermittently moaned, panted, and giggled as they tried to recover.

In a high-pitched voice, Blossom eventually choked out, "Now I have to pee, too," which started a new round of laughter.


	6. Drowned Memories

Chapter 6

[Drowned Memories]

Blossom was still tired. The bags under her eyes could well have been a weight bearing down on her whole body. Sore. Stiff. Tired. Cold.

Even so, she was grateful to see dawn gathering outside the thin layer of tent. Glad to put on her shoes and slip outside, huddling in the coat, hoping it might be just a little warmer outside.

It wasn't.

The river was just a little higher, and seemed to be flowing faster. She couldn't decide whether that would make it less dangerous to drink or more. Blossom carefully set her coat on a large, relatively dry rock in the riverbed and crept towards the flowing water in nothing but socks, shoes, and undergarments. The cold bothered her more than her sense of modesty, and her thirst drove her forward despite both.

She knelt painfully on the many large rocks in the riverbed, plunging one hand into the stream to support herself as she leaned forward to scoop water into her mouth with the other hand. Her long, red hair tumbled into the river, tugged gently as it was pulled with the flow of the water.

Nearly panting now, she pulled back and rose to her feet, flicking and wiping water off from her arms and her mouth. Wringing her hair as dry as she could. In the brisk morning air, a slight breeze chilled her further as it teased the wetness on her skin.

Yesterday she'd decided a blanket was too bulky to be considered essential. She'd decided coats and jackets were better, all considered.

At the moment, she hated herself.

Ashley was standing outside the tent now, jacket absent so she could pull on her green top. She was already wearing her tights and shoes, still dirtied and dusty.

Blossom looked down at herself, suddenly feeling exposed now that being seen was a certainty rather than a possibility. Soon she returned to her coat, though she remembered it being much warmer before she'd taken it off. Ashley fastened her belt and walked towards her.

Blossom didn't even zip up her coat. In fact, her sleeves hung limp as she instead huddled inside, clutching herself and holding the coat shut as she shivered.

Ashley smiled at her, sliding her arms through the front of the coat and wrapping them behind Blossom's back. She rested her chin on Blossom's shoulder and squeezed her tightly.

Blossom adjusted the coat to cover both of them, wrapping her arms around Ashley, too. Before long, she felt a little warmer. Eventually, the shivering stopped.

Although Blossom's aching feet complained that one night was not rest enough, she was otherwise quite relaxed. She closed her eyes. For a few moments, at least, she just wanted to be. To be, and nothing else.

She was startled when Bubbles embraced them both and squeed, "You two are just so cute!"

Blossom just slowly closed her eyes again. A small puff of air that might have been the idea of a laugh passed through her nose.

Bubbles released them and said, "I'm going to go look for firewood, okay?"

"Mmmm," Blossom responded.

What must have been at least a few minutes later, Blossom finally gave Ashley a gentle push away. She extracted herself from the coat, which Blossom again huddled inside. She was no longer shivering, and the coat was very warm. The brief time standing in the coat with Ashley had probably been as restful as all of last night combined. Or at least, it felt that way.

"Thanks," Blossom said, flushing slightly. Ashley's soft, loving expression was so foreign on what was otherwise Buttercup's face. Blossom's relationship to Ashley, as comfortable as it was unfamiliar, clearly felt different than her relationship with Buttercup.

"No prob. So, what do you want me to do?"

Blossom looked around, then focused on the tent. "Do you want to try putting those tent stakes down again?"

"Sure can."

They marched back to the tent, Blossom climbing inside to pass Ashley the stake bag and then remaining inside to get dressed.

Blossom filled their pot with river water and placed a brick of ramen noodles inside. Perhaps they would soak up even cold water. Enough to become edible, if not exactly pleasant. She saved the flavoring, wondering if they could drink broth for a future "meal." It would still be better than a "meal" of old honey.

"Oof," Blossom spouted when Ashley embraced her roughly from behind.

"Have I told you 'I love you' today?"

Blossom smiled, wrapping her arms gently around Ashley's. "I don't think so."

"Well, I love you. Having that makes everything suck less."

Blossom silently agreed. Having Ashley close by, feeling her warmth, was pleasant on some deep, primal level. She couldn't remember sharing close moments like these with the original Ashley, but it seemed curiously familiar in some way.

"You're still at it?" Bubbles asked from the hillside. She was hard to hear at this distance, but at least she wasn't shouting for the whole world to hear them. She carried a small, dirty selection of firewood. Even at this distance it was obvious her gloved hand was deliberately motionless. Perhaps her load would have been larger if not for fear of irritating her wound.

Blossom disentangled herself from Ashley, patted her shoulder, and said, "Go help her out." Meanwhile, Blossom checked her pot of noodles. They still seemed completely hard, but it had only been a minute or two.

Bubbles and Ashley piled the wood below the little precipice holding their tent. Blossom silently approved, thinking that spot was unlikely to be washed away if it rained again.

Hopeful, Bubbles asked, "Any funny dreams?"

Ashley shook her head. "Probably not until my powers start coming back."

"So we just...wait here?" Bubbles asked.

Blossom looked around. "I don't see any other obvious choices. Ashley only mailed a letter to the farm, so I doubt she was ever physically out here. We probably won't be more messages from her anytime soon."

"Do you miss her?" Ashley asked, looking sad and worried.

"More than I'd miss you?" Blossom probed. Ashley looked away. "I miss Buttercup. Maybe I miss Ashley, even though I can't remember her. But I also miss Professor. I miss the first Bubbles. The first me. I miss them all, and I love them all. And I have you and I love you. And I have Bubbles and I love Bubbles. Does that answer your question?"

Ashley shrugged.

Bubbles cocked an eyebrow and asked, "What, are you jealous of yourself?"

Ashley glared back. "I just don't want to be the leftover scraps of two different people. And I don't want the leftover scraps of everyone's loving them."

Blossom smiled and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a glossy, black, smooth stone. "You gave me this worry stone, remember? And we read comics together and played all those board games. Those are our memories, and that's all between you and me. Not me and Ashley, or me and Buttercup." Blossom swallowed and added, "Or between anyone and the...other Blossoms."

Ashley tried to smile, but the sight of the worry stone seemed to...well, to worry her. She clutched herself as if chilled. Seemed to want to smile, but be unable to pull it off.

Bubbles inquired before Blossom could, "What's wrong?"

"I gave her that stupid stone because Ashley made me."

Blossom spoke before Bubbles could, "What do you mean?"

"It's... I dunno. The stone wasn't my idea, is all. I don't know why I did it, I just know it felt right and I needed to do it. Same with writing on the wall in Princess's bedroom."

"What?" Bubbles asked, mouth hanging open.

Blossom winced. She never quite got around to telling Bubbles. Things had, after all, gotten a little out of hand towards the end.

"All I knew was that was supposed to help you remember, and the stone was... I dunno. Supposed to help Blossom, somehow."

Blossom asked, "Couldn't it have just been your powers? Things 'clicking?'"

"Yeah, but _why_ does it feel right? Does it feel right to me, or does it feel right to her? They're her stupid powers, after all."

"Ashley..." Blossom cooed. She almost wished she had a different name to call her right now. Something hers and hers alone. She gently brushed and rested her palm against Ashley's cheek. "Are you afraid that when our powers come back that you'll...go away?"

Tears and an averted gaze were answer enough.

Blossom threw her arms around her and promised, "If Ashley ever does something so horrible, I'll hate her forever and ever."

Ashley felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "I don't know if she'd let you."

Blossom let go and asked, "What do you mean?"

"It's...just a feeling. I know you're the only thing that really matters to her. Heck, at least I still want to go out and bust crooks again when this is all over. I still want to buy the last three years of Consortium of Justice comics and binge read them until my eyes fall out. I still want to make sure Ms. Bellum is okay."

Blossom and Bubbles were pained at the memory. Last they'd seen, Ms. Bellum seemed to be deeply hypnotized by Professor. At best, they could hope she lived normally when she wasn't being directly controlled.

Ashley continued, "I can't...really remember. I mean... Sure, I can remember what it felt like when I had my powers these last few days, but... I can't explain. It's not just that things 'clicked' and 'felt right.' You girls halfway-kinda-sorta remembered stuff. I just kinda-halfway-sorta remembered stuff that hadn't even happened yet. Stuff that wouldn't have happened at all if I didn't..."

She growled in frustration. "I can't even explain it! But Ashley, she... It's like threading a needle through a telescope. But we're all here because she did it, somehow. Because she _can_. Ashley doesn't think like we do. She _can't_. It would be crazy to her. I guess, I'm worried that... Even if I have no memories to recover, what about her powers? I was _different_ when I had my powers. Not on the real Ashley's level, but I wasn't really like I am right now, neither."

Blossom smiled and hugged her again. "Does it help if I promise I'll love you either way?"

Ashley pushed her away. "Of course it makes me happy to hear that, but like I said, that's all Ashley ever wished for! She... She was a little girl who wanted her mommy. Who could see everything that might ever take her mommy away and stop it. Even _growing up_. That's all she knew or could understand. Or would ever let herself understand."

Tears welled, but a Buttercup-like surge of shame and willpower drove them away. "I don't ever want to lose you, either. But I also don't want to lose Bubbles. Ashley was bigger and smaller than all of us. At the same time, even." She shook her head, casting off the last traces of sorrow and replacing them with resolve. "Like I said before, we're our own people. We ain't got nothing in common with the old versions unless we want to, do you understand?"

Bubbles gently caressed Ashley's back with her good hand. "I understand. Old me killed her bestest friend in the whole world because she was too afraid and hurt to trust anyone anymore. I don't want that."

Blossom took Ashley's hand in her own. "I understand, too. Old me gave up on everything and disappointed everyone. She stopped believing in herself. In her family. I don't want that. But you need to remember that you're different. I don't think Professor made you the same way he made us. So I think it's important to remember that you are your own person, maybe even more than Bubbles and I are.

"We're all struggling with stuff. We're all confused and afraid. But you have to remember that we are together, and we love and will support each other. Whatever happens, we'll stand by you. And whatever you think about Ashley and her powers doesn't matter. You are who you are, and nothing will ever change that. Do you understand that, little missy?"

A wave of relief washed over her. Liberating.

Ashley smiled and nodded shyly. "Maybe... Maybe it's stupid, but today I feel like being called 'Buttercup' instead."

Blossom's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile.

Ashley mock glared at Bubbles. "Don't you even think about it, sister."

Bubbles shook her head. "I guess 'Bashley' is kind of ridiculous. How about we call you 'A-cup' instead?"

On impulse, Ashley glanced down at her chest. She then gazed at Bubbles with a critical, calculating eye for several seconds. Then she laughed.

Apparently, even Buttercup would have appreciated the humor in it.

* * *

Professor yawned as he crawled, naked, into the metal tube.

"It's cold," he commented to another, clothed version of himself outside the tube.

"Not for long," he replied, smirking.

The naked Professor in the tube rolled his eyes.

The clothed one pressed a button to close the chamber. Fans and motors and who knew what else whirred to life a short while later, as Professor II was incinerated.

Transplanting memories to a fresh clone took less than an hour. Much, much less time than a full night of sleep.

Professor II's scream was brief, cut short as he was practically vaporized. He...they had decided to forego wasting any sedatives.

In any case, Professor was right here, alive and well. Putting on his super suit for the second—or was it technically the first?—time. Professor II's final moments were gone now. As if they'd never happened. Yet, Professor himself still lived.

If it was good enough for his girls...

Not that he planned to make a habit of this, but Professor II's all-nighter was too important, and so was continuing the search immediately. It was worth the cost. Not that it cost much, from his perspective.

Growing new clones took time. Professor's regenerative agent, originally used to revive the dead, proved very effective when combined with a suitable bio-gel full of raw compounds. After a few alterations and adjustments to the formula, he was producing full bodies in a little more than a day.

Fortunately, Professor had a few dozen copies of himself in waiting already. The two empty cloning chambers were primed with bio-gel, awaiting samples he'd provide when he had more time.

His manufacturing facilities were in the process of building a second suit as well. If he still needed to cover more ground later, multiple super-suited Professors might be an option after all.

And if he died out in the field, Professor IV would have a spare suit ready and waiting.

Professor III rocketed into the air in the early-dawn light. Soon he returned to the farmhouse. He was disappointed, but not surprised to find that the rain had washed away any tracks the new sensors might have picked up on.

That just gave him an excuse to sweep through the woods with his long-range scanners.


	7. Sundown

Chapter 7

[Sundown]

They'd skipped stones on the river. They played "I spy with my little eye" and twenty questions. They'd looked for shapes in the clouds. They'd tried to play truth or dare, but they were too tired to do anything and already had their fill of unveiled secrets. Besides, it seemed impossible that Ashley/Buttercup had any real secrets.

Now they sat in the grass around their tent, waiting for another batch of cold ramen to finish soaking in flavorless water. Blossom assured them they'd start a fire tonight one way or another. In the meanwhile, hunger was a barely-adequate spice, and the single block of noodles they'd split for breakfast hadn't gone far.

Ashley said, "When I get my powers back, I'm going to one of those all-you-can-eat buffet places. Or maybe a greasy-spoon diner in the middle of nowhere."

Bubbles said, "When I get my powers back just a little bit, I might just try to hunt. Ask some animal really nicely to come close so I can shoot it with the shotgun."

Blossom asked, "Really? You'd actually do that?"

"No." Bubbles sighed. "But I'd think about it. Even though none of us have any idea how to butcher and cook an animal without making ourselves sick eating bad parts. And the body would attract stuff."

Ashley added, "Not to mention the smell after a day or two." Beat. "Well, congratulations. You've somehow ruined my appetite."

"You're welcome."

Blossom asked, "You girls hear that?"

They listened.

"Hear what?" Bubbles asked quietly.

Blossom replied in her normal volume, "I dunno, like a jet or something."

"Ugh, Blossom, don't scare us like that!" Bubbles said. "I thought it was a bear or a person or something."

"Sorry. It'd just been going on for a while. It's stopped now." She stirred the noodles. They'd mostly separated, but were still stiff.

Ashley walked to the riverbed and, standing by their pile of firewood, threw a stone as far towards the other side of the river as she could. It landed on the rocky bank opposite the water. Then she went back to the grass and sat.

"What was that about?" Bubbles asked.

"Just seeing how far I can throw. Maybe just a little more than this morning."

Blossom said, "Well, try not to waste your strength. I think our powers return on a pretty exponential curve. One afternoon you'll throw it a few dozen feet further than that morning. Another day you'll go from throwing it out of sight to watching it burn up in the atmosphere on its way to the moon."

She prodded the noodles again. "We just have to be patient. Once we achieve superhuman levels of endurance, strength, and speed, we can consider moving if we think we can reach a better campsite in a day. But by that point we're probably only a day or two from flying to the nearest city or town anyway."

Her sisters nodded. They already knew this, but talking helped pass the time.

Minutes passed in silence. Blossom stirred once more, but otherwise nothing happened.

"I want a new name," Ashley said.

Bubbles teased, "What's wrong with the other four?"

"Your two aren't really names," Ashley said wearily, neither playing along with nor resisting the teasing. "Blossom, what do you think? You named Ashley, right?"

Bubbles responded before Blossom. "So that should mean it's my turn, right?"

Blossom considered her response. "Well, have you considered picking your own name? Maybe something special or that you think sounds nice? Are there any names you really like that might suit you?"

"I don't know," she said morosely. "I guess if I picked, wouldn't they actually just be the names you girls would like? Or at least names you think Buttercup would have liked. So why not just ask you instead?"

Blossom said, "Because, like we said, you are your own person. It doesn't matter whether you have pieces of Buttercup, or Ashley, or me, or Bubbles, or even Professor and Ms. Bellum. Only you have all those pieces, put together they way they're put together. Only you are you, and you know yourself better than anyone else. So, what name would you like?"

More silent minutes. Eventually Ashley pictured an image in her mind. Something frozen and golden, transparent. Locked in time.

"Amber," she muttered. "Amber," she told them. "What do you think of 'Amber?'"

Bubbles, in a mock hoity-toity voice, commented, "An 'A' name with a 'B' sound. Daring. Bold. Authentic." In her normal voice she said, "I like it."

Blossom smiled and stirred the pot again. The noddles were finally soaked through. Probably. "I think it's nice. Would you like us to start calling you 'Amber?'"

"Yeah," she replied at length. "Yeah, I do."

Blossom said, "'Amber' it is, then. Any special meaning you care to share?"

Amber shrugged. "I just think its pretty. And it's just tree resin that turned into something cool, so that's neat."

Bubbles said, "I thought it was tree sap?"

Blossom said, "Actually, Ash—But—Amber's right." She smiled apologetically at Amber. "Sorry. I'll get used to it. It's a really nice name, though."

"Thanks," Amber said bashfully.

"After all," Blossom said, carefully carrying the pot and three forks closer. She sat down. "It's the first thing you ever claimed for yourself."

Blossom and Amber shared a smile. Shortly before heading for the farm, she said she liked the name "Ashley" because it was the first thing Blossom ever gave her. Amber recognized the reversal and its empowering implications, and she appreciated it.

As they ate, Bubbles asked, "Do you think Amber knew it was resin and not sap because that came from Blossom's memories?"

Amber said, "I dunno. Blossom, ask me something smart that you know."

"Hmmm... What's the difference between exponential and logarithmic growth?"

"Not a clue. Bubbles, ask me something air-headed and girly that you know."

"Umm... When would you use a powder versus a silicone foundation?"

"For makeup? Uh...I didn't even know that was a thing."

They carried on asking each other random questions until they grew bored and another silence fell over them.

* * *

Professor was covering a lot of ground, but not having the easiest time. The sensors were untested and unrefined. They were slightly confused by the rain still clinging to the plants early in the morning, but that improved as the sun and time helped dry them.

Mostly, there were many false positives. Heat forms and living masses that turned out, time and again, to be animals. However, Professor was starting to get the hang of it, ignoring things the suit's software was not (yet) smart enough to filter out on its own.

A little before noon, he found them. He hovered low in the sky, barely above the treeline, and scanned the rest of the area. There seemed to be no creature of notable size in the vicinity. For the moment, they were alone.

"You girls hear that?" Blossom asked.

Professor slowly lowered to the ground and disengaged the propulsion systems. He continued listening as he approached, trying to tune the sensors to get a better view of them through the trees. And, more importantly, collect sensor data so he'd have a pattern to compare against in the future. Should he ever need to mount another expedition like this.

Buttercup tested the limits of her powers by throwing a rock across the river. As he would have anticipated, it was nothing to speak of. Another day or two, perhaps, and they'd have been a bigger problem. Professor was grateful to have found them before it came to that.

He observed them for a while longer, but they seemed to be waiting in idle silence. There was likely nothing of interest to be learned from this experiment.

Professor took a step forward, and the flamethrower nozzle extended itself. The effort of transporting the subjects back to the lab was not worth the effort or risk.

"I want a new name," Buttercup requested.

Professor stopped, listening to the exchange.

Fascinating. They seemed to know, or suspect, that Buttercup was a composite of several memory sets. It was possible they had read this in his research notes before their escape, but more interesting was their reaction to it. "Amber's" in particular.

If she didn't self-identify as Buttercup, that was problematic. However, if she didn't self-identify as Ashley, that was a victory worth celebrating.

Professor considered the situation. This was an opportunity to gather some more information in a semi-controlled environment. From overhead, he had seen no major settlements in the area. This spot was a bit too isolated for most campers and hikers.

It was an intriguing opportunity. Normally, he would not have been able to observe the girls' natural behaviors after a failed experiment. If they continued to explore and discuss their situation, it could give him insight to plug more holes or remove additional detritus in future rounds.

And if they spoke of future plans or destinations, that information might prove useful should he need to track down future iterations of them.

A quartet of tiny drones detached from his back and helicoptered away. The four of them combined were perhaps as large as his fist. They alighted in different trees around the area.

Professor walked a distance away before launching into the sky. He could monitor the girls from afar and take notes. If anything occurred, such as their moving away or someone discovering them, he could fly out quickly enough to get the situation under control again.

Not that this could go on for long. Given that their powers were slowly returning, he would have to wrap things up tomorrow morning. Just to be safe.


	8. Tight Chains, No Way Out

Chapter 8

[Tight Chains – No Way Out]

The dream was fuzzy. Disjointed. The three of them were at the campsite, sitting at a comfortable picnic table and eating delicious breakfast foods.

Professor sat in the tree, watching them, obvious for his white lab coat.

He also sat in another tree. And another.

The girls were crowded in the tent. Although it had no windows, she could see outside. Without sail, oar, or motor, the tent drifted gently down the river. Amber reached her hand out and dipped it into the water. Cool, crisp, and welcoming.

Something was odd. The water flowed the wrong way.

No, they _drifted_ the wrong way. Floating upstream.

As she noticed this, an odd sensation drew her attention back to the hand dipped in the river. The water had turned to blood.

Amber woke up and immediately shook Blossom's shoulder. After some moaning and muttered complaints, Amber straddled Blossom, who slept on her side. She lowered her mouth to her ear and breathed out words that were barely more than silence.

"Professor's watching us. We have to pack up and leave right now."

After a beat, Blossom sat up and stared at Amber. She leaned over, cupping her hands over Amber's ear and asked, "Are you sure?"

Amber replied in turn, "We go upstream. I'll wake Bubbles."

They dressed and packed as quickly as the confined space allowed, saying nothing more for now. Blossom pointed at the bedroll below them and the tent above. Amber nodded.

Before exiting, Blossom tied the bedroll onto Bubbles's back. Bubbles stood aside and waited for them to break down the tent, both to avoid disturbing the load and to avoid using her sore hand.

They had no idea what time it was, but the moon was bright through the clouds. It was still night an hour later, when they finally dared to talk as they marched.

Blossom asked, "Anything else we should know?"

"Nothing. It was weird. Not strong like the dreams when I had my full powers, but it was definitely not a normal dream. These ones feel different." She explained what she could remember of her dream after her sudden awakening chased most of it away.

"I don't like the blood in the water thing," Blossom said. "Are you sure we're not walking from the frying pan into the fire?"

"We were still fine in the dream. I don't know what the blood means."

Bubbles asked, "But it's definitely Professor?"

"I think so. Maybe a clone, like us. Maybe the one you shot wasn't even the original."

"But then who 'woke him up?'"

Blossom replied, "Maybe an automated system. Which might mean that there's no fighting him unless we can destroy the lab. If he has systems set up somewhere we don't know about, maybe not even then."

Bubbles asked again, "But you're sure it's him?"

Amber said, "Not totally but I'm pretty sure." She paused. "If we destroy the lab, does that mean he won't come after us anymore because he can't make new ones of us?"

Blossom said, "Doubtful. He can rebuild equipment, and provided he can capture us he might use us as new baselines. Instead of making copies of the originals, he'd be making copies of...copies."

Silence again. Another hour later they stopped for short break. Two hours after that, the sky was brightening in anticipation of sunrise.

"I wasn't gonna say anything, but do you girls smell that?" Amber asked. "Is it something in the river?"

Blossom said, "I noticed it, too. Only once in a while, though."

"Yeah," Bubbles said, sniffing the air. She leaned against a tree, supporting some of the weight on her back. Blossom gladly set her suitcase down. Amber turned her head this way and that, searching for the direction of the odor.

Blossom was almost ready to abandon the search, grateful for the break but wanting to keep moving. Then she starting moving towards Bubbles, who stood in awkward embarrassment as Blossom searched the air around her.

Bubbles stammered, "Well, we haven't showered in a while, and our clothes are..."

Blossom gently lifted Bubbles's arm, careful to not jostle the injured hand in the glove. She sniffed the base of the glove and quickly turned her head away. A moment later, she looked at Bubbles seriously, speaking with an even tone she hoped would inspire calm and coolness. It didn't.

"Bubbles, we should take a look at your hand. When's the last time you cleaned it?"

They'd been together almost without pause for the last several days. Blossom already knew the answer.

"Back at the farmhouse," Bubbles said nervously. "In the sink, and then some stuff from the first-aid kit."

"Why don't you sit down for a minute. Amber, could you get the first aid kit and water out?"

They'd burned a small fire last night, just after sunset. The water in the wine bottle had been boiled, although they had been sipping from it when they took breaks this morning.

"I stopped moving it after the first day," Bubbles explained. Blossom was known for always having the right answer if she had all the information. So if she just told her everything she could, it was going to be all right, right? "I wasn't very careful before and I did hurt it a little bit grabbing stuff and things. I did try to flex it a little bit once in a while, and I thought it was just getting stiff—" Bubbles flinched and gasped through her teeth. Blossom was rolling the glove off, turning it inside-out, and had bumped her fingers. The hand was still covered.

"I thought it was just getting sore and stiff because I wasn't using it and it was better to leave it alone. Keep it covered since we went through the trouble of...cleaning...it..." Her voice raised in pitch as she struggled to brace herself and talk at the same time. Blossom peeled the glove away from her palm. In the silence after Bubbles stopped talking, the sound was wet and slightly sticky.

There was no denying they'd found the source of the odd smell. However, the wound was still covered by a small gauze pad on her palm, held in place by a layer of duct tape around her hand. Even so, Blossom was certain the wound was infected.

Even with their powers, the girls could become ill. They were hardier than most, but it was one thing for their bodies to shrug off blades, beams, and boulders. The ecosystem of the body was a bit more complicated, with a blend of sometimes-beneficial and sometimes-harmful foreign bodies. Taking a punch was easy, but illness was more akin to countering a thief or con artist. If the infection spread too far, too fast, they'd doubtless need to get Bubbles to a hospital even after her powers returned.

A whine, both quiet and shrill, escaped from Bubbles as Blossom unwrapped the duct tape and gauze bandage.

Bubbles couldn't have looked if she wanted to. She'd kept her eyes closed the whole time, trying not to scream, afraid someone might hear. When Blossom finished, Bubbles just started panting like she'd just competed in all the events of a track meet, without breaks.

Blossom held Bubbles's wrist firmly, but not painfully, moving her arm around to get a good look in the early morning light. The palm was slick with a mixture of blood and pus. Disturbingly, her ring finger appeared red and slightly swollen whereas her other fingers looked pale.

Light-headed from pain and hyperventilation, Bubbles started breathing more steadily, but heavily. She moaned and groaned as Blossom traced a finger along the edges of the palm, at least an inch from the wound.

"How bad is it?" Bubbles asked. "Should I even look at it?"

"It's up to you, but I think you might want to wait until we've washed it a bit."

Bubbles moaned in anticipation of the future pain, but said nothing. She was largely silent as Blossom carefully dabbed and wiped with fresh gauze from the first-aid kit, wet with water and occasionally some peroxide. Only an occasional, sharp inhalation reminded them that she was feeling anything.

That changed when Blossom poured a stream of peroxide along the wound to flush it out. Bubbles hunched forward and made a sound that was something in between growling and struggling with constipation.

"I think we're ready to bandage it up," Blossom said after a bit more cleaning.

"Mmmm," Bubbles replied. "Mmmjust... Just a sec."

They paused while she steadied herself and waited for the pain to diminish slightly.

When she sat up again, her face was wet with tears below and sweat above. As she looked at her hand, she frowned and wept again. She tried to bend her ring finger just slightly, and wheezed gently through her teeth before deciding not to push it. Her other fingers moved a bit more easily.

Bubbles spoke, mostly to herself. "Okay. Okay, that...could be worse. Okay. Ready to bandage it up?"

Blossom nodded. "Ready?"

Bubbles leaned back, closed her eyes, and nodded. By the time all was said and done, they had a quarter-a-bottle of peroxide and a third of the gauze remaining. What little water was left in the wine bottle, Blossom insisted Bubbles drink now. The river was close—they'd fill it up again with non-boiled water for the day's hike.

"I'm ready for the glove, if you wanna help put it on. Should we...put it on inside out? Clean it or something?"

Blossom shook her head. "I think we should forget the glove. The warm, moist space may be helping the bad stuff more than helping you, I think. You're already used to not using it, so maybe just be careful not to touch anything."

Bubbles nodded.

"Just a few more days," Blossom promised. "Amber's dreaming stuff again, so maybe she'll push us right where we need to go in the meanwhile."

Bubbles nodded again and held out her good hand. Blossom and Amber helped her to her feet. They continued on, hating the silence but finding no pleasant way to fill it.

* * *

Professor spilled his morning coffee as he scrambled away from the computer. The girls had left hours before he woke up.

In his sloppy haste to put on the suit, he would have sworn it took longer than donning it normally. In either case, he was soon soaring in the air once more, jetting towards the woods. He swooped low, hovering over the old campsite as the drones returned to their place in the suit's back.

He flew onward with some caution. The ground, still slightly damp in places, offered occasional tracks to follow. Meanwhile, a panel in his helmet display played back everything he'd missed from the previous night, searching for clues.

Shortly before forest thinned and the river met the small lake it drained from, Professor found something odd on the ground. He landed and examined it with care, fearing treachery.

It was a cleaning glove, stuffed with a wad of old bandage and duct tape. Analysis of the blood confirmed it belonged to Bubbles.

Professor sprayed it with a brief burst from the flamethrower, turning it to melted char and ash. Another burst from the same nozzle sprayed a white fog that doused the fire he'd started. The tube retreated into the arm cuff as Professor looked forward. They couldn't be far from here. Their tracks showed a fairly normal gait, not superspeed running.

Yet, they were not on the long range scanners. Had he made an error in his modifications? Set the filter a little too aggressively?

Professor allowed more and more raw data to come in. There was at least one large life form in the area, possibly human.

With whoosh and flame, Professor took flight, heading for the lake upstream.


	9. Moments Of Inner Peace

Chapter 9

[Moments Of Inner Peace]

"Ahoy, there," the man called from the motorboat on the lake, perhaps twenty feet away.

"Um...hi," Blossom replied, clutching one arm uncomfortably with the other. It had been years since the world had seen them, and their outfits were a little dirty, but they weren't exactly hard to identify.

"You girls lost?" He adjusted his floppy, wide-brimmed hat to get a better look at them. His face was weathered, almost leathery. His vest was worn and frayed in places, with two small pockets worn right through their bottoms. It covered a flannel shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

Amber said, "We're heading upstream."

"Well, you done did that. You family of Jerry's?"

The girls exchanged glances.

"Guess not," the man said. "I'm Kendall. Ken's fine, though."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Amber. We're just on a camping trip is all."

"Huh," Ken said.

Blossom looked at the suitcase in her hand. The shovel in Amber's. The shotgun in Bubbles's.

"That so?" Ken asked. "Well, ain't any good places to camp out this direction. Little dribs and drabs of farmland. I used to have a few plots, but after a drought they never were the same." He pointed behind them. "Highway's about...oh, maybe a four-hour hike that way. My place is just up there." He jabbed behind him with his thumb, pointing across the lake and a ways beyond. A two-story house, a rotting barn, and a stable, maybe a half-mile from the lake shore.

Blossom said, "Um, thanks for the info. But, really, we'd better get moving. Nice chatting with you."

"Girls, let me level with you. I'm not exactly sure what's going on here. Frankly, I'm not sure I want to know. But I do know that if I just let you go walking off, I'm going to keep wondering and worrying. It's gonna ruin a good day's fishing. And then I'm gonna go home and I'm going to call the police, because what else can I do as a responsible man?

"Now, on the other hand, you can let me lend you a hand and maybe then I can believe everything's all right, and we won't have to worry about anyone else knowing. I'm just a retired, old farmer, living alone and counting the days I've got left. That and lookin' forward to the boys' next visit. They're just a bit older than you, I think. Two o' the three, anyway. And they wouldn't be alive today, if they hadn't been saved by a pack of girls that looked a bit like you three."

"Oh?" Blossom asked, failing at nonchalance.

"In any case, you've got the shotgun, now don't you? So if you don't want me to call the police, you can just shoot me now. And if you want to get me good, you'd best at least climb in the boat before you pull the trigger. And if you're going that far, you may as well let me drop you off at the farm first. So what do you say?"

Blossom considered things for a while. "If we come...you'll promise not to tell anyone you saw us?"

"Can't promise you that without knowing what's what. You running from someone?"

Bubbles asked, "Would you believe us if we said it was someone dangerous?"

"Oh, yeah. I can imagine runaways as mangy as you look right now, but most of them wouldn't cart around a shotgun. You reckon the police should know about 'em?"

Blossom shook her head. "I don't think he's the kind of thing police can help with."

Kendall motored the boat slowly towards the bank, the front end lifting a bit as it ran partially aground. "Well, then. You girls must want to get going, so I'll stop wasting your time."

Bubbles leaned towards Amber and whispered. Blossom overheard the word "blood," and thought back to Amber's dream.

"I don't think so," Amber said aloud to Bubbles. To Blossom, she asked, "So, we in?"

"I guess," Blossom said. Wariness and relief canceled out to something like indifference.

Soon the boat was speeding towards another shore, to a white pickup truck.

Bubbles asked over the sound of the motor, "You said some girls like us helped your sons?"

"Grandsons. Saved 'em. Some big old robot came crashing through the mall. Those PowerPuff Girls came through and saved them just before it stomped them. That summer, it was all they could talk about. They even bought some of those dolls. Little, plastic charm thingies. One for each of them. Their dad wasn't too keen, but they were like good luck charms. I always hoped it reminded them to be grateful to still have their lives, and maybe even do something good with the time they got."

They quieted while the man slowed the boat and drifted along. There was a lone wooden post stuck in the ground. At some point in its history it had been half underwater, but now it stood a good ten feet from the water's edge.

He waded to shore with a rope, pulling the boat a bit closer and tying it down. "There we go. You girls need a hand?" To Bubbles, "Yours looks a little banged up."

"Sure," Amber said. She grabbed the shovel and the shotgun, holding them out.

Everyone paused for a moment. Slowly, carefully, the man approached and accepted the shovel. He did not take the shotgun. "I'll take that luggage, if you'd like."

Blossom smiled. "Thank you."

When Kendall started towards the truck, Bubbles swatted Amber on the arm. Bubbles said nothing, but her expression conveyed a clear, "What the hell?"

Amber shrugged and shook her head, stepping out with the shotgun in hand. Blossom, unencumbered, helped Bubbles out of the boat.

"I'll ride in back so we don't have to untie me," Bubbles said. "I'll take that," she said, reaching for the shotgun.

Blossom stopped her. "No, you might bang up your hand on the way up. Amber, help her get untied. I'll watch the stuff in the back. You two sit in front."

Kendall waited patiently in the cabin of the truck. He opened the back window before they started up the dirt and gravel road. With some difficulty, Blossom heard him resume speaking.

"The world hasn't been the same without them. Those PowerPuff Girls, I mean. The boys took it pretty hard, I'd say. I think Andy's the only one who still keeps his doll thing. Made it into a necklace, but he always keeps it tucked in his shirt. The paint's pretty well wore off, but it's the spirit of it, I guess. Careful, got a pothole here."

Blossom braced herself. Amber, sitting in the middle of the cabin, grabbed the window frame behind her and wrapped her arm around Bubbles to steady her.

"I keep telling myself I'll just dump a load of rock from the back of the truck one of these days. I'll probably blow an axle before I get around to it. People don't always do what they ought to. I guess that's why I respected those PowerPuffs, considering they always did what they had to. Helping people and whatnot." He quieted as the truck slowed, turning down a path leading to the house. "After all they've done for me and my family, least I can do is pay it forward to someone else."

After parking, he asked, "You girls fans of theirs?"

"Yeah", Amber said without hesitation. "Blossom was always my favorite."

"Really? I thought that was the pink one?"

"That's right," Amber confirmed.

"Huh." He popped open his door. The girls opened theirs and filed out while Blossom prepared to hand off their stuff.

Kendall leaned against a post of his front porch while they moved. "You know, it puts things in perspective. People can be downright awful to each other, but it's nothing like aliens, giant monsters, and all that other weird stuff. I believe people can help each other through pretty much anything, if they just try. Police, neighbors, ordinary folk can do a lot of good. An abusive family member—heck, even an axe-crazy murderer!—people could help each other with. Now can you girls honestly tell me your problem isn't something other people can help with?"

"Yeah," Bubbles said.

"Pretty much," Blossom agreed, standing in the now-otherwise-empty truck bed.

Kendall looked on in silence while the girls waited. "Well, then. So this is something only you can take care of?"

"Yeah," Amber admitted, morose.

"Even if it means you stuck on your own and maybe getting yourselves hurt or killed?"

They said nothing, but fidgeted awkwardly. Bubbles scratched the back of her head and giggled.

"Well, damn. You need a place to lie low? I could always drive to town and stay in the hotel a few days if it's best I not be around."

Blossom said, "I wouldn't mind covering some more ground. I...don't suppose you'd be willing to lend us your truck? I did drive once before."

"Let me think on that. You girls want to stock up? The boys used to go hiking and camping sometimes. Pretty sure their backpacks are still in the storeroom."

Blossom said, "It would feel weird to raid your house."

Kendall shrugged. "Go ahead. I pretty much live off welfare and fish. You girls seem needier than me right now, so it's only right." He opened the door and walked in, leaving it open behind him.

He suggested some things for the girls to grab. Gave them a foldable shovel to stow in one of their new hiking backpacks. All three were more appropriate for their size, so they discarded Amber's adult-sized pack. It was actually easy to fasten the tent bag to the bottom of one pack, and the bedroll to another. The third held a newly-acquired sleeping bag instead.

They had more food. Cantines. A blanket. When Bubbles returned to the kitchen, she found another four shotgun shells waiting in plain sight on the table. Ken made a point of not being around when she stowed them away.

Bubbles flushed out her wound again at the kitchen sink. She noticed now that the edges of the gash were white and didn't have much feeling in them.

"Here," Kendall said, setting a small pill bottle on the counter. "Those are some antibiotics they gave me for a U.T.I. a while back. They're a bit past the date, but I figure I'll never use them and they can't do much harm. But you probably need to get a doctor to look at that or you just might lose it."

Bubbles nodded grimly, thanking him before taking two pills right now. She'd read the dosage later.

Blossom and Amber had finished rearranging their gear and joined them in the kitchen. "So, about that truck?"

Kendall shook his head. "I don't think so. But if you're heading out, grab your things and meet me at the stable."

They paused to wrap Bubbles's hand with the last of their first-aid kit. They'd already stowed away a fresh kit from Kendall's truck. Then they put on their packs and set out. For a moment, Bubbles hoped for surprise ponies. However, the stable and farmland were devoid of livestock.

The girls found Kendall leaning against the wall of the stable, waiting.

"I bought these for the boys one year," he said. From this angle, the girls couldn't see inside to know what he was talking about. "My daughter said it was excessive and that I couldn't afford it. Maybe she was right, but I couldn't help it."

He pulled a set of three keys from his pocket. Each was on a PowerPuff Girls key chain, each featuring artistic renditions of one of them in action poses. The girls each took one and followed him around to the front, where they saw a trio of four-wheelers. One was topped with a dark blue, another a deep red, and the third a dense green.

The girls looked at each other, then smiled at Kendall.

Blossom said, "We don't know what to say."

Bubbles said, "Your grandsons..."

"Yeah, about that." He pulled a permanent marker from his pocket and handed it to Blossom. "I'm not asking you to say anything, but... Well, if you girls are who I think...who I hope you are, maybe you could...I dunno... Sign 'em before you ditch 'em? If you are them, I mean."

Blossom smiled and went to sign her name on the red one immediately, while Kendall halfheartedly protested. "Well, you don't have to admit it while I'm standing right here."

Bubbles also ignored his protest and signed hers.

Amber stared at the marker. Blossom patted her on the back and nodded her on, offering her approval of the little white lie.

Blossom took the marker afterwords and handed it back.

"In case it needs to be said, you never saw us. No matter who asks. Even if you think they should know, or want to know. Especially then."

"I can do that," Kendall said. His voice was softer now, but his composure never faltered. "They should have enough gas to get to Littleton, if you go straight north over the hills." He reached into his pocket one last time and pulled out his wallet, pressing a small stack of mixed bills in Blossom's palm. "Don't you refuse it, even if you don't plan to spend it. There's probably a little over a hundred dollars there. It won't go far, but it's all I've got—in cash, at any rate."

Blossom lost her composure, blinking away a tear or who as she hugged the kind, old man. Bubbles did the same, and Amber shook his hand, to his amusement.

Every time the girls looked over their shoulders as they rode away, they saw him standing by the stable, waving. Soon, they passed over the first hill, and he was gone.

* * *

Professor paused at the edge of the forest. A lone man sat in the middle of the lake, fishing. His sensors read tracks circling the shore, then disturbed silt where they had probably climbed into a boat.

He stared grimly at the fisherman before flying over to him.


	10. Black Pages

Chapter 10

[Black Pages]

The girls attempted to skirt around Littleton. They wanted to avoid it entirely, but found occasional houses in outlying areas. Some seemed dilapidated, but might have been occupied regardless. They didn't like the potential of being seen, but there wasn't much else to do about it.

A benefit was that when the four-wheelers ran out of fuel, they were well within sight of a road, however little-used it was. Despite the time and effort, multiple trips, and having only five good hands between them, they took the time to push the empty four-wheelers beside the road. They hoped that Kendall and his grandsons would someday be able to reclaim their autographed souvenirs.

A short hike later, they eyed a single-story house whose paint had worn away to rotting wood. A side porch had collapsed and the roof bowed in menacingly. Whether for fear of watching eyes or impending collapse, they kept a wide berth.

Amber insisted, "No way does anyone live here anymore."

Bubbles countered, "And when you find out someone does, not only will they see us, but you'll be a horrible person for thinking that."

Blossom said, "Girls, it doesn't really matter if someone lives there or not. I don't think it would be safe to hide out there."

Amber looked around. Hidden in the knee-high grass was a sloped mound of concrete, with a rusty metal cover set into its flat top. She asked, "That a fire pit?"

Blossom said, "Looks like a sewer access."

Bubbles leaned over and knocked on it. "I don't think sewer lines run out this far, do you?"

"Septic system, then," Blossom said. "We should really keep moving if we want to make it out of Littleton before nightfall."

From a hilltop, Blossom had seen more woodlands further north. Whether there was another source of precious water was unknown, but the sooner they made camp the sooner they could start searching.

"Hold up," Amber said. She ran her fingers along the rim of the lid. A bolt protruded from its center, surrounded by a shallow area. A circular shape, except for the pair of rectangles extending from opposite sides. "I get it," she mumbled.

Amber looked around, then set her eyes on the house. "Girls, I want to check this thing out."

Blossom shook her head. "Unless you're getting a premonition, it's just wasting time."

"Not a premonition. I get regular ideas too, you know. I wanna check the house real quick. Is that all right?"

Blossom shrugged. "I'll give you five minutes, and that's being generous."

Amber nodded and removed her backpack before jogging over. Blossom flinched at the cracking sound of Amber kicking in the front door. A few minutes later, she came out with, of all things, a pair of crochet hooks.

"Best I could find," she said. She bent the straight ends into an "L" shape to give her something more to hold onto. She fiddled with the center indentation of the rusty lid, trying to hook under it. She grunted, lifting. "Grab it," she said in a strained voice.

Blossom pressed hard where the rim of the lid was beginning to peek above the concrete. Amber adjusted her grip and position and pulled again. Blossom helped the lid rise up, bracing herself for a septic smell.

It was musty and dark, but that was all. Metal groaned in protest as the lid, which was apparently hinged on the underside, lifted up.

Bubbles, still limited to one hand, awkwardly switched on the shotgun's flashlight. She shone it around and into the hole, careful to keep a tight grip.

Blossom wondered, "A storage area?"

Amber said, "Hard to get things up and down that ladder."

Bubbles asked, "Storm shelter?"

Amber suggested, "Bomb shelter? Thing probably hasn't been opened since the fifties."

Blossom asked, "Is that what you were thinking all along?"

"Kind of. I thought it was meant for people. Should we take a look? Maybe it'd make a good hiding spot. There could even be running water in there, if it's hooked to a well or aquifer or something."

"If you want to look, be careful. Very, very careful. The ladder might fall, there might be something you could get hurt on—"

"What are you, my mom or something?" Amber asked, smirking.

Blossom, mouth hung open in mid-sentence, snapped her mouth shut and smiled. Amber leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. From her own backpack, still sitting on the ground, Amber pulled out a flashlight from Kendall's house. She clicked it on and descended.

Her voice echoed from below. "Yeah, looks like a bomb shelter. I think that used to be a bed over there. Floor's dry, so water hasn't been leaking in. Nothing on the shelves." She climbed the ladder enough to appear in the sunlight again. "What do you think? Worth staying?"

Blossom looked around them, then north, then back down. "I guess it's as good a spot as any. At least if there's water, or we can get it from a house down the road in the middle of the night." They'd stocked several containers of water at Kendall's, but it was amazing how fast they could blow through it while on the move. "You don't get any creepy vibes? Worry we'll be stuck with nowhere to run if something happens?"

Amber shrugged. "No, but I don't think my powers are strong enough for that yet. I am tired enough to take a nap, though. Maybe something will come up then."

Blossom hadn't considered that. They'd gotten so little sleep last night, and the mere mention of a nap made her feel suddenly tired. If Amber had a chance to dream, that could be a bonus. Worse came to worse, they could always continue north later. In some ways, traveling at night had benefits, at least near these populated areas.

"All right, we'll pass down the backpacks when you're ready."

It was awkward, with the bunker floor a good ten feet below, but Blossom lowered the backpacks to Amber without incident. Bubbles climbed down next, careful to use only her good hand for support. Blossom went last. The underside of the hatch had a wheel crank like one would imagine on a submarine. Blossom used it to lower the lid, which was much easier now that the hinges had been loosened. She made no effort to lock the door above her, for fear something would break and they'd never get out short of their powers returning.

Although, she considered, that might be just fine. They had more supplies now. Enough to wait until their strength returned. They'd definitely be able to burst out of the bunker before they starved, and if they rationed water they could hold on for a few tense days.

One big downside was that they were in an unfamiliar place where neither sun nor moon nor stars shone. Tracking the days and rationing accordingly would be hard.

"All right, take a look around and get things situated. We'll put up the tent just to stay off the floor. After that, it's lights out. We'll want to conserve those batteries."

The place was clean at one time, and there was no sign of debris, refuse, or activity from critters. It was perfectly round and almost completely open. A short length of wall jutted out to separate a toilet from the metal frame of what had certainly been a bed. Three sets of shelves dominated the other half of the area. The metal framing survived, but the wood of the shelves themselves was in poor shape.

Near the toilet was a huge, plastic wash basin. Beside it was a hand pump that fed a water spout. After a few minutes of priming, water did trickle out onto the floor. Presumably one was intended to use a bucket, since it did not pour into the sink. Fortunately, they'd brought their soup pan.

The toilet clearly had no plumbing to fill its water tank, which had no lid. Blossom had them fill it with the pump spout and their soup pan. It was a great relief to find the toilet would indeed flush. Filling it by hand was a price they were more than willing to pay for the luxury of using it.

Blossom and Amber set up the tent while Bubbles shone the light on their work.

Somehow the bunker felt less claustrophobic once they climbed into the tent together. At least that cramped space was becoming familiar to them. If anything, they were less cramped now that they could safely pile their gear outside the tent.

The feeling of comfort diminished somewhat after the light went out and they were as good as blind.

Blossom said, "I'm setting the flashlight in the front-right corner. That's your right if you're inside looking out."

Bubbles said, "It feels weird using the tent in here."

"The floor did look a little grimy. This way the blanket and bedroll will stay clean for sure."

Amber asked, "Do you think this place is lined with lead?"

"If it was meant as a nuclear fallout shelter, who knows? Maybe it is lead-lined."

Bubbles said, "Yeah, and probably asbestos-lined, too. This place is probably unhealthier than the fallout would have been. On second thought, I'm glad we're using the tent."

They shared a giggle at that. The sudden, absolute silence that followed it was awkward.

Amber asked, "You don't think we'll run out of air, do you?"

Blossom answered, "There were some ventilation holes. No telling whether they're plugged up by now. We can open the lid when we wake up, if we want."

"If we wake up," Bubbles said. After a beat, "That was meant to be a joke. I'm sure we'll be fine for a nap."

"Yeah," Blossom agreed.

"Yeah," Amber said, a little less certainly.

With every sound magnified in the silence, it took a little longer than they liked for sleep to steal over them.

* * *

Professor landed beside the three vacant four-wheelers. The old man had told him the girls went forward on these. Granted, it took some mild sedative and deep hypnosis to pry it out of him. Wiping today's encounters from his memory was a safer choice than simply killing him.

As far as Kendall would guess, the vehicles had been stolen. Professor examined them, and upon seeing the three signatures he frowned deeply.

He was grateful they had avoided the nearby town. Their path seemed to indicate they were trying to avoid civilized areas. At first he'd thought it foolish, but then he considered it from their perspective. Professor wanted to wrap this up neatly and without anyone noticing. The girls wanted to escape his attention and buy time for their powers to recover. Both of their agendas involved as little public awareness as possible, which suited him just fine.

In any case, these vehicles had to go. Especially with those autographs. Another tube appeared on his arm, this one on the top side, and Professor burned away the signatures with a laser. Then he raised his other arm and jetted a stream of flammable liquid onto them. After setting them ablaze, he took to the sky and began scanning the area.

Unfortunately, the girls' tracks were harder to follow than the vehicles'. This area had received less rain, and they may have walked down the road a ways before veering off again.

Professor focused his long-range sensors, sweeping across the area. For now, he found nothing definite. Confident that would change, he flew further ahead. He investigated some human forms and found none of them were a match.

As the minutes ticked on, he wondered and worried. With Kendall, there was precedent for the girls receiving help from an individual without attracting widespread attention. Had they done so a second time today?

More minutes ticked by. Panic and frustration alike welled up inside. There was no trail. There were no helpful sensor readings. There were no girls to be found.

Professor flew up, surveying the area. The road the girls had been traveling on dead ended. The other direction eventually led into the town. The town fed into the highway through one access road and three side roads.

Mechanisms in his shoulders, thighs, and the sides of his torso clicked and whirred as they exposed various small launchers. Within a few minutes, a few craters effectively blocked road access into or out of Littleton. The drones were deployed—all eight, rather than the four he'd used earlier—to survey the area.

Professor himself landed on the flat roof of an abandoned, former pawn shop. Sitting down, out of view, he continued to monitor sensor data. His scanners and the drones swept through the town, looking for anything that might have been his girls.


	11. Haunted, Roof

Chapter 11

[Haunted – Roof]

One downside to their sanctuary was the inability to safely build a fire. A pity considering they had many things that would be so much better warm or hot, but cold beans beat cold, unflavored noodles any day in their book.

Another was the effect the darkness had on them. At times, they could believe they were dreaming or that each other's voices were imagined. Perhaps it was that mood which inspired their ghost stories.

Except most of them weren't really ghost stories. Unless they themselves counted as ghosts.

Amber had started them off, finishing with, "And before she could get back up, he was on her back! Digging his knee in so hard it hurt. Then, suddenly, there was a stabbing pain in her head as he screamed, 'I'm trying to help you!' Her head jerked back when he yanked whatever it was back out of her skull, but then he stabbed again! 'I'm making you better!' And again—'You have to get better!'

"As he kept attacking, the sounds of the train grew louder, while everything else...faded to black."

Silence greeted her ending.

Bubbles said, "Wow, that was really messed up. The baby in the shower was...ew."

Blossom said, "I liked it overall, but some elements hit a little close to home, what with Professor chasing her down."

"Heh," Amber said, scratching the back of her head, unseen. "Well, actually, a lot of that stuff wasn't completely made up. I mean, I don't think most of it was real, but it came from...wherever that stuff comes from. Ashley-type dreams and visions, I mean. It wasn't on purpose, at first. I just...followed the threads, I guess. Weird, huh?"

Bubbles asked, "Is that so? Well... Well, well, well... In that case, how does this sound?"

Bubbles began to relate a story of her own. The others rightly suspected it was an account from her past life, something remembered rather than fabricated. Even if, perhaps, a bit embellished for sake of good storytelling.

"His grisly work done, the Harvester fled the scene. Soon, he slipped unseen into another house. He was in the bedroom of a young girl, now. He stopped in front of a mirror on her wall, looking at his own reflection. There were new stains of blood on the burlap sacks. Bit by bit, the few unstained spots were getting covered. Before long, they'd be gone altogether.

"His arm reached up and he clutched the sack on top of his head. Slowly, he pulled it off.

"Underneath was the face of the one he hated most. The entire reason for his existence."

Here, Bubbles's steady dramatic tone faltered. "It was!— It was...my face." She sniffled in the darkness. When she spoke again, her voice was muffled, perhaps buried in her arms and knees as she folded in on herself. "Oh, God." Another sniffle. "Just...just give me a minute."

The others did not speak, but they carefully, clumsily moved through the darkness to sit on either side of her. Amber and Blossom's arms bumped into one another as they tried to wrap them around Bubbles.

As the time passed, the pattering sound of rain against the hatch intruded upon the silence.

If Bubbles cried, it was not loudly. When she finally spoke, her voice a little husky but otherwise strong, she said, "I never really brought the outfit into our house. I wasn't that stupid."

Amber corrected, "You mean, ' _she_ wasn't.' Whatever's left of her memories may seem important, but they're not really your memories. You're not really her. Professor tried to turn back the clock so that that Bubbles wouldn't exist anymore. He didn't totally win that fight, but he didn't totally lose it either. You're not the old Bubbles or the new Bubbles. You're...whoever you want to be."

"Thanks," Bubbles said, smile audible in her voice. She gave Amber an affectionate squeeze.

"Uh, you're welcome," she said uncertainly.

Bubbles let go and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I just had an urge to say 'do you understand?' at the end of that rant. I almost didn't think anything of it, except...I think I've used it before. I'm not sure why, but maybe there's something special about that phrase."

Blossom said, "Well, I do remember Professor frequently asking us whether we understood when he explained stuff recently. It seemed maybe...I dunno, just a little out of place, but not obnoxiously so. Later on, after he went crazy on us, it just sounded...disgusting. Like something was drawing me in, but then I just wanted to get as far away as possible. Maybe it's a special code meant to help us trust someone? Or to trust what they say without thinking about it? In any case, obviously it doesn't work that well, or we'd have handed ourselves over to him."

Bubbles added, "I remember Amber used it when we went to Princess's room." She paused. "After she cut the word 'you' into the wallpaper for whatever reason."

Amber continued, "When I had all my powers back, I just...did things. I didn't even know why I did them, just that it felt...right. Felt good. I mean, I'm sure Ashley had a better sense of what she was doing and why. Maybe not in a way she could ever explain in words, or that we could understand. But it makes me wonder whether those things really were my choices. If I didn't know why I was doing them, why did I think they were right?"

She sighed. "I'm glad you girls are backing me up on this whole 'me being me' thing. I mean, maybe I shouldn't always do the things I get an impulse to do. At least, until I get a better idea why I feel them and what it means."

Blossom said, "That may not be unwise. So...my turn?"

There was no reply. The girls shifted, pulling away from Bubbles and giving each other space. In the tiny tent, that required moving all of three or four inches.

"The girl—a redhead with long, luscious, beautiful hair—"

Bubbles giggled. Pleasantly, not mockingly.

The idea of a giggle carried on Blossom's tone for a few words, but it did not escape her mouth. "The girl lay on her bed, which was where she spent most of her time these days. The days were dismal and dreary, no matter how brightly the sun shone through her window.

"In her hand she cupped it. It was a dreadful looking thing, with spines and tendrils jutting out at any which angle. Only its base was smooth and flat. But the protrusions were not sharp. No, they were fluid, soft, and elegant.

"She held and caressed it, pressed against her chest, as one might touch a lover. But this thing had taken something—someone dear to her. It had been the cause of all her problems, but now it was the only thing left of her dear, departed sister.

"It spoke to her in the night. Visited her in her dreams. But when it did, the Object wore the skin of her deceased sister. It spoke as if it were her, and the girl believed. Even now, she can only wonder how much of her sister might have truly been inside.

"In the day, however, it seemed lifeless. Inert. The only sense that something was amiss was how the girl was drawn to it. Sucked into its depths, feeling the flow of the tendrils not only with her fingers, but with her mind. Her whole being. They were smoother than the softest silk, an endless source of joy and comfort. In the grief, the girl wanted—just for a time—to cease to be. The Object granted that wish with an eagerness her true sister never would have inflicted on her.

"Perhaps, in these quiet, intimate moments, it worked some dark power over her mind. But only in her dreams did it give her true purpose. It asked for sunlight, and so when she was not cradling it she set it on her windowsill, just behind the curtain. It said the sunlight gave it warmth. Perhaps it gave it power.

"It had also asked, in her sister's voice, for rescue. For life.

"And so the girl set out to create that life. Secretly, in the dead of night, she set about her dark task. Before the morning had arrived, the world welcomed a new life. A new life created by the girl's own hands. The girl was prepared to end that precious life, carving open its head so the Object could nestle deeply into a new brain. Hoping against hope that it would truly and finally return her departed sister to this world and end the dismal, dreary days.

"Fortunately for the newborn child, her words alone were enough to snap the girl back to reality. Almost too late she realized the horror she was about to commit. Instead, she gave the child a name and took her home."

The dreamy tone of her lonely voice in this dank, dark place gave Blossom the numbness she needed to speak so freely. Bubbles sniffled, which momentarily snapped Blossom to reality. She did her best to ignore it and settle back into her flow.

Thoughts and memories were coming back to her even as she spoke them, and she could understand Amber's analogy of following threads. She worried that if she came back to reality too fully, she'd lose her grasp of it entirely.

"But all was not well with the child. Soon, the girl's suffering was compounded with the loss of her child. On the heels of her death, another person dear to the girl was terribly hurt. The girl had failed to save either of them.

"Feeling inept and defeated, the girl crept into the basement of her home, intending to do to herself what had been intended for the child. Alas, her pain and wounds made her grow weak before she could finish the task. In desperation, she tried to plunge the Object in with the last of her strength.

"It shattered. Though not a fragile thing, the force of the blow caused its beautiful tendrils to shatter and break away like glass. As the world around her grew dark, she could have laughed. She could have cried. She could have screamed.

"Her last thoughts as she passed from this world were that she had failed again. Failed to protect something dear to her. She mourned not for her loss, but for the thought the Object would never again bathe in the sunlight it so craved."

The silence dragged on, but Blossom didn't notice it in her daze. The steady drone of rain held her somewhere out of time. Even the occasional drip, drip of water near the ladder seemed far off, although some distant part of her mind mused that they must have damaged a waterproof seal when they opened the hatch earlier. Only after Bubbles placed a hand on Blossom's thigh did she remember where she was, or that she was.

Bubbles got to her knees and reached forward to embrace Blossom, but she said nothing.

Amber, however, asked, "So you were going to kill her? Kill Ashley?"

Blossom winced. Bubbles sat back down.

"She wasn't Ashley yet. She wasn't even a person, really. I mean, not in my—in Blossom's mind. As soon as she spoke up, everything changed in an instant. Just because she was brand new didn't mean she wasn't a person, or that it wouldn't be murder. There was no way she would have hurt her.

"That said, I honestly don't know where to draw the line between grief and bad decision making, and what the Object might have influenced. There was definitely something fishy about it, though. The way it could slip into her dreams."

"I wonder if Ashley knew?" Amber mused. "I mean...if you think about it, the way Ashley saw the future... You said you were going to go through with it before she spoke up? What if she saw the futures where she didn't speak up?"

"Well, I'm sure as soon as she made a peep or sounded hurt or afraid, that would have snapped me-slash-her out of it. She...I never would have gone through with it."

"Really?" Amber asked skeptically. "What if she saw making noise would make her mommy sad, so she tried to be as quiet as she could? What if she saw the future where she just sat there, smiling happily while Blossom carved her head open and stuck that thing in there?"

"Amber..." Blossom said gingerly. "Are you..."

"Oh, _I_ don't care, if that's what you're worried about. It turned out all right and I sure as heck can't remember. But I wouldn't put it past her. Oh." Amber paused as realization dawned. "Oh, sorry. I guess I'm kind of saying, 'imagine how much you probably screwed her up from the moment she was born.' I don't think it was your fault, though. Or even the other Blossom's. I don't think her ideas of right and wrong, or hurt or not hurt could ever be the same as everyone else."

After a few moments of silence, Bubbles said, "Okay, now _that's_ creepy."

Blossom said, "She still got us this far. She can't be all bad." Snuggling up beside Amber, she added, "Especially not if Amber is any indication."

Amber wrapped one arm around Blossom's waist and replied,"Aw, shucks."

* * *

Professor's face was only slightly warm. The other side of his visor, on the other hand, was highly energized at the moment. Water was deflected away before it even landed.

He continued sitting on the roof of the old shop, watching video from the drones, eavesdropping on conversations around town, and teaching his long-range sensors to better distinguish age and gender, now that it had gotten the hang of telling people apart from animals.

He paused to look up at the rain. Even if he'd wanted to go back to the four-wheelers and try following the girls' tracks again, that opportunity had likely passed.

Not that it mattered. Even when he reviewed old sensor data with the new analysis methods, the girls were nowhere to be found. They had to have found a different vehicle. Either that, or their powers had returned much sooner than expected and they'd taken flight. It was not impossible.

The surveillance back at the house revealed they had taken three vials of the tainted Chemical X. They'd apparently realized their danger after reading his research notes, since they had not used them. Otherwise, the sedative would have worked beautifully and prevented this whole mess.

The X they'd stolen was fully effective, but the sedative would keep them unconscious for a few hours. Still, that was merely a few hours, compared to days to recover their powers gradually. Likely only a single hour if exposed to the skin instead of ingested, which would hinder the sedative but not the X.

It was possible they could drink it in shifts. For that matter, all it would take is one of them to fly the others far, far away. The other side of the world, for all he knew.

The thought did not cause him to panic yet. He was prepared to face them with their powers intact. The fallout of their discovery would be problematic, but he was prepared to abandon his home and resume his work elsewhere to escape persecution. Somewhere safer and more controlled. Somewhere secret.

More importantly, this worst-case scenario didn't fit. After all, they'd driven all three four-wheelers. They must have been awake and unable to fly for at least that long. If they'd applied the X immediately after, they should have still been in sensor range, sleeping somewhere.

Assuming the girls still had the vials, they most likely didn't realize the potential they held. This gave him time.

Again, he turned his eyes to the sky. Looking beyond the rain to the thick, dark clouds above. He wanted this to be over. He wanted a loving family again. If not for Ashley's lingering taint, he was confident that goal would have been achieved months ago and this madness could have been avoided.

He sighed and resumed reviewing the endless stream of data. Waiting.


	12. Servants of Fear

Chapter 12

[Servants of Fear]

The girls could measure the passage of time only with their sleep. Even that they could not trust, disrupted as their bodies were with missed sleep, naps, and general emotional and physical exhaustion.

Their second big sleep ended with Bubbles waking them up, asking for help with her hand. The pain had been too much for her to keep quiet about it. She feared that, while they slept, it might have been bumped or slept upon.

Bubbles had already examined herself with the flashlight, and the other girls didn't like the sight any more than Bubbles did. Her ring finger was still red, still only slightly swollen, and held very stiffly at a not-quite-straight angle. The gash itself was a mixture of white and black around the edges. More worryingly, the skin all over her hand seemed vaguely splotchy, now.

Before rebandaging her wound, they pumped water into their pan several times, washing out the wound over the toilet. In the past, Bubbles had endured most of her hand pain quietly, but it was clear those days were gone.

"Last one, I promise," Blossom said as she approached. Amber held the light so Blossom could see what she was doing, and they both held Bubbles's wrist so she wouldn't pull away. However, they only squeezed hardest when actually pouring water, because even squeezing her wrist too tight was very painful now. Blossom feared it had something to do with her stiff ring finger and the muscles and tendons that connected to it.

Bubbles's scream rose in intensity before fading into a brief silence at its apex. A quick gasp gave her enough air to begin sobbing and crying once again. From pain, helplessness, and inability to end this misery.

"There, there," Blossom said, patting her shoulder gently. "We'll get some more gauze and wrap that up."

Blossom glanced behind Bubbles, to the damage of the wall. Earlier, she'd slammed her head back into the wall in response to her pain. There were several obvious cracks in the concrete. Well below that, her good hand had torn into the concrete surface. A chunk of wall was missing, crushed to dust in her fist and fallen to the ground below.

"As soon as we can fly, we'll get you to a good hospital," Blossom promised.

Bubbles's voice was weary, ragged, and slightly deepened. "Can't we just run there? Or ask somebody for help?"

Amber shook her head. "I feel bad about going out right now. Like, really bad."

"Besides," Blossom added, "we probably won't be able to run very fast until we get at least some basic flying ability. Since superspeed is hard to test in here, we'll just have to be patient a little while longer."

Bubbles asked, "When we get our heat vision, should we cauterize it?"

Blossom shook her head. "It's not bleeding, and the worst of it is probably deeper than the surface wound. Burning would only cause more damage and probably slow the healing process."

Bubbles spat out a foul word. The others had no real response so that.

Amber perked up and said, "My hearing is starting to come in. It's still kind of hard to hear outside this place, though."

"Me, too," Blossom said after some consideration. "Bubbles?"

"Yeah," she half-said, half-sighed. She moved to sit on the toilet, the only real seating this place had other than the floor. "Day...four? Is it four? There was the night we escaped, the night we camped, the night we broke camp, the first night in the bunker, last night... That's four full days gone, right?"

Blossom nodded. "I guess this would be day 5. Sounds like it's daytime out there. Lots of birds, people watching television. It shouldn't be long, now. We'll have to keep trying to hover and get moving as soon as we feel we're stable."

Bubbles asked, "What if Amber still says it's bad?"

Amber insisted, "Then we go anyway. No way am I letting you stay like this one minute longer than we have to."

Blossom wanted to argue against it, but couldn't find the heart to do so. In the end, she expected that if Amber felt crushing dread and despair that she'd steer them some other way, somehow.

Or if not Amber, then Ashley.

For the next several minutes, the girls listened in silence. They'd been shut off from the world around them for days. Even here, in this little pocket of houses that barely qualified as a town, television and radio put them in touch with a much bigger world. A normal, happy world. Compared to their current situation, anyway.

A while after turning off the flashlight, Amber started humming, then awkwardly trying to sing a song she apparently didn't know too well.

Smiling a little in the darkness, Bubbles asked, "Is that Mary Poppins?"

Amber nodded. "Up to the highest height. Let's go fly a kite...send it soaring," she muttered.

Blossom and Bubbles tried to find the sound. With their powers weakened it took a bit of work, but they managed. Blossom joined in next, and Bubbles soon after. Their song rose in volume as they finished off the song together.

Hardly any time later, Blossom was making a ridiculous attempt to drop out lyrics to a rap song she didn't know and couldn't really keep up with. After a few good-natured chuckles, the others again sought out the song and joined in. Unlike the Disney song, more singers only made it sound worse, but they hardly cared.

They kept this up long enough for the sick feelings in their stomachs to retreat. Breakfast was a can of corn. More time was passed with singing, and then listening to an audio book with some unknown jogger. When the workout ended, back to a little more singing.

Lunch was served hot. Heat vision was back, well enough to boil water. Lacking the full power and control they were used to, they decided the safest option was to boil some water and have noodles properly for once. They went for broke and made their remaining three packages all at once. After a test taste, they even added one of the extra flavor packets from before and called it just right.

Not able to fly just yet, they could feel their bodies lighten a little. Or at least imagine it.

So they spent their time after lunch listening around again. Blossom pointed out a mother calling her collegiate son to settle his summer vacation plans. After that, Amber directed them to a pair of boys and a little girl playing make believe superheroes. Bubbles then found some older kids, a boy and a girl, getting cozy.

When it became clear virginities were soon to be lost, they turned their attention elsewhere.

Bubbles still thinking about the young couple, asked, "I wonder why their parents can't come home?" She couldn't suppress a small smile of mischievous naughtiness. Her expression was hard to see in the faint, red glow they were all casting from their eyes.

Blossom said, "The mom mentioned something about roads getting fixed."

Amber said, "I hear big machines. Not too far from the highway. Diggers or something."

"Do you think the rain washed out the roads?" Blossom asked, somehow not believing it.

As she asked, she gazed up at the hatch to the outside world. She didn't need Amber's powers to suddenly feel like opening it was a really, really bad idea.

The waiting at this point was more tense. There was less talking, less sharing.

Their excitement when Bubbles successfully hovered was muted. It was not due to her unsteadiness.

Bubbles was still in great pain. She'd eagerly eaten up the distractions of the day to keep her mind off it, but they could still sometimes hear it in her tone. Later, see it in the contortions of her dimly-lit face.

Even Bubbles did not rush them. Only a few hours later, when they were all able to glide around the room smoothly and in complete control, did they gather their belongings and stand below the hatch.

Blossom reiterated, "Are you sure you have everything? We're probably never coming back here."

Amber said, "Yeah, I'm sure."

Bubbles just gritted her teeth. The promise of relief made her pain all the more intense. Her body seemed to demand she be at a hospital within seconds and cured moments later. She wished it would stop rushing her.

"Okay, girls. Let's move out."

Blossom glided up and easily pushed the hinges away with a deep groan. The sky was a brilliant orange. Perhaps only a few minutes of sunset remained.

She squeezed through the hole while wearing her backpack, as did the others. "All right, follow me!"

Blossom continued on in roughly the direction they'd been going all along. Farther from Townsville. They had to encounter another large city if they went far enough.

She already had it all planned out. They'd zip into a hospital and find a nurse off by herself. Get her and maybe one doctor to help Bubbles and them keep things quiet. After that, they'd head for the wilderness and make camp again, assuming they didn't find a better option in the meanwhile. Once they had fully eluded Professor's grasp, they'd decide on next steps.

Unfortunately, hastily-made plans are often the best way to prepare for what will _not_ happen.

Blossom pulled to a sudden stop when a figure in glossy, white armor whooshed up to hover in front of them.


	13. Screaming Flux

Chapter 13

[Screaming Flux]

There was no greeting. No monolog. No gloating. No warning.

The girls recognized him, visible through the faceplate. That recognition dawned as he raised both arms. Various tubes extended from them. Others in his shoulders and chest extended and opened up.

The girls started moving as the air was filled with many small projectiles. They exploded around them with pops and thick smoke.

Amber closed her eyes as tightly as she could. The impulse came too late to warn the others, whose eyes now stung terribly. Amber held her breath and plugged her nose. The other girls' lungs burned, and their wheezing and coughing only made it worse.

Professor's vision was obscured as well, but the smoke would disperse quickly in the open air. Until then, he had his sensors to rely on.

Three silhouettes appeared on his visor as his suit continued to monitor their positions. While waiting in the rain, he'd even taken the time to color code their signals. He zoomed toward the green figure. Five tubes circled his right arm, and each of them launched a small, silvery ball.

Amber shot straight up in the air, barely escaping the projectiles as they burst behind her, splashing a mixture of gaseous and liquid Antidote X.

Professor grunted. Apparently he'd been right to target her first. Amber, Buttercup—it didn't matter. Ashley was at her core. He could feel it. Feel her.

The air was stirred by his and her movements, and the smoke began to fade. Unseen servos and hydraulics quickly reloaded all five Antidote X launchers even as he raised his arm at Bubbles.

Bubbles blinked and rubbed and squeezed her eyes, trying to see. Even her good hand couldn't clear its eye, and the other was hopeless. Through a haze of moisture she could barely make out an indistinct, white form against the ruddy sky. Bubbles flung herself backward, allowing herself to fall briefly towards the ground.

The five capsules exploded in midair above her. She was well away from the cloud of Antidote X, but the droplets splashed down onto her.

In the span of moments she felt the feeling of her deliberate descent turn into the belly-wrenching pull of gravity. Felt her loss of control. Tried to remember how high in the air they were. Wondered whether she could survive the fall. Wondered, with some determination, whether she could do anything to help the others before she died.

Above, Amber rushed in from the side, slamming her forearm into Blossom like a linebacker. Blossom wheezed as the air was forced from her lungs. Between the various shocks and distractions, she was unable to do anything more than hurtle through the air at the impact, almost out of sight.

Amber rushed down. She did not catch Bubbles. Not quite. She did reach her in time, swooping down and grabbing her by the backpack. Amber slowed her descent and pulled her forward. Bubbles fell to the ground and rolled along. Clumps of dirt were flung up in the impact. She screamed in pain caused by her hand banging around. There'd been no helping that.

Amber, meanwhile, flew up towards Professor, fist pulled back.

His suit analyzed the movement. Compared it to all the fighting patterns Professor had been able to feed into it from old training sessions and any other videos he'd been able to find.

 _Uppercut. Impact in five-hundred-forty-three milliseconds. Ideal dodge from angle of attack: backwards, emphasis on upper body. Estimated alert reaction time: three-hundred-thirteen milliseconds. Queuing alert. Pre-charging reverse thrusters._

Professor merely saw the word "BACK" flash on his visor and gave the mental command to thrust backwards. He avoided Amber's fist, but could still feel the air pressure as it passed in front of his face plate.

Amber raised her other hand in the air, clutching both together and swinging down.

Another warning flashed. Professor pivoted around his right shoulder and raised his left arm, firing a blast of fire. While Amber was obscured from his vision, and he from hers, he raised his right arm to fire another volley of Anti-X.

When the flame stopped, Amber was already gone.

Professor looked to where Bubbles had fallen. She was no longer there.

Another alert flashed up. Professor shot downward as Blossom, soaking wet, flew through the spot he'd just occupied.

Blossom couldn't see Amber or Bubbles. After the irritating smoke, she was grateful to be able to see at all, which was probably why Amber had thrown her back into the lake where they'd met Kendall. At least, if Amber had any sense, she knew there was no way Blossom was going to run away to save herself.

Professor's right arm, still loaded with Anti-X charges, pointed where the targeting system indicated. Sure enough, Blossom arrived just after he fired.

Blossom turned to re-engage Professor, but then kept spiraling. She only briefly wondered why she couldn't stop spinning, before the feeling of her stomach told her she was now falling.

Professor spun to the side. The word GUARD flashed on the screen and he held his position steady as a car flew clumsily through the air. Behind, unseen, Amber shot the gas tank with heat vision and ignited it. Gasoline explosions were flashy but lacked the staying power of napalm or the raw force and destructiveness of a real explosion. Professor had nothing to worry—

DOWN. PIVOT. LEFT. BLOCK RIGHT. PIVOT.

The indicators zipped by chaotically, confusing. The suit couldn't decide what to do. Professor couldn't see through the fiery explosion to make his own decision.

Amber flew through the flames and wreckage, shredding through steel and plastic, spiraling.

When she neared, she windmilled backward, kicking her foot upward.

The suit's somewhat bulky chest and short neck region meant there wasn't much chin to catch, but her foot caught it all the same.

Professor's head somehow banged against his faceplate. The back of the helmet offered more padding, and the machinery in the neck itself caught his head before the blow threatened his spinal cord.

He was stunned only briefly. As he righted himself, he looked for indicators to tell him where to go. Red and green soon vanished from long range sensors, but he sped off in their last seen direction. Even farther from Townsville.

For the first few seconds, nothing. Then blips of green and red. Soon after, blue. He rapidly approached, then passed both blue and red. He spared a glance downward, seeing a clearing in the forest.

Green continued speeding away. After her pause to drop off Blossom, Professor had gained ground. Even now he watched the distance between them close. They didn't have their full power yet. Otherwise, he could never keep up, even in this suit. Mach 2.7 was about all it could do. Maybe 2.9 in a pinch, at risk of damaging the suit (or himself).

She was near the edge of long range sensors, but growing closer. Professor zoomed in his viewport, seeing the green light trail in her wake. Seeing the back of her head.

She turned briefly, looking back at him. He gained an additional ten meters in exchange for the effort. She accelerated slightly, but he continued gaining. Slowly but surely. The suit still had plenty of power. He could do this all day.

It wouldn't take nearly that long.

After a few minutes, he didn't need magnification to make her out. However, the growing darkness meant the sensors were still useful, outlining her in green like an aura.

After a few minutes more, it seemed Amber was ready to accept that she couldn't run away. She suddenly swerved upward, perhaps hoping to circle behind.

Professor kept his gaze firmly on her and followed the movement, curving upward himself.

BRACE.

Thrusters ignited and Professor stopped dead in the air, clutching his fists in front of his abdomen and holding his arms tightly against his side, waiting for the unknown impact. He hadn't taken his eye off her for hundreds of miles. There was no possible way she could have thrown another—

Professor was suddenly sucked through the engine of a passing passenger plane. The suit protected him well enough from injury, if not the shock and surprise.

Flames wrapped in smoke lit up the night sky. Professor saw the plane was heading out towards the water. With three other engines working, even with the damaged wing it looked as if it would make a relatively controlled landing.

That was all the thought Professor could spare them. Green was already beyond long-range sensors. Last position indicated she had gone back the way they'd come.

Professor shook his head and followed. Buttercup/Amber/Ashley had only desired distance and a distraction. And, of course, she'd "somehow" managed to get exactly what she wanted. Time enough to head back and fetch her sisters.

Based on his calculations, Professor expected to see her on scanners within thirty seconds at most.

A minute later, she was still nowhere to be found.

Professor frowned and edged his suit up just a bit above mach 2.7.

Several minutes later, he expected to at least see blue and green on the radar. However, they were also absent.

He landed in the clearing where the other girls had been deposited. There were no useful tracks. No insight on where to go from here.

His gloved hand made leathery sounds as he clenched it. He took a swing at a nearby tree, taking a great chunk out of it.

While Professor considered what to do next, the tree bobbed slightly. Eventually the strain of the damage proved too much. It cracked loudly as it toppled into the clearing. Professor hardly noticed.

Clearly, Amber was capable of a lot faster than mach 2.7.

For now, Professor flew onward, to investigate the area where the girls had suddenly appeared on scans. Perhaps they'd gone back into hiding. If not, perhaps there were clues to be discovered.

If not, he would continue home to recharge and reload his suit. For now, he was out of leads.


	14. Crimson Paintings

Chapter 14

[Crimson Paintings]

Blossom sat on the small, uncomfortable bed, resting her chin on her knees. Her clothes were relatively dry after her dip in the lake, though still clearly showing the wear of the last several days.

A small part of this basement, used largely for storage, had long ago been walled off to create a small, if uncomfortable living space. This place was part of Blossom's fuzzier, once-lost memories. Memories of Buttercup's funeral and cremation.

Bubbles sat on a chair beside a small, wooden desk. An elderly clergyman in black robes sat on a tiny stool beside her, making him look shorter than he was.

Amber paced impatiently.

"And how about here?" the man asked, gently squeezing part of Bubbles's hand.

Bubbles gasped through her teeth in response.

"My, my... That's not good. Not good at all."

Blossom asked, "What should we do, Father?"

Amber said offhandedly, "No hospitals." She continued to pace, offering no further explanation.

The clergyman spared Amber a brief glance, then told Blossom, "This looks like an infection in the interior spaces of the hand. Between the fingers. These can sometimes spread into nearby tendons, causing tenosynovitis. That's probably the cause of the swelling and pain in her ring finger. The best thing to do is...well, I imagine the best thing to do is to drain the infection, provide plenty of antibiotics and rest, and, sadly, quality hospital care."

"No hospitals," Amber repeated. "I can't protect everyone. He'll find out, somehow. I just know it."

"Young lady, if we don't get your sister proper medical care—and I'm too ill-equipped and out-of-practice to qualify—then, frankly, the safest course would be to amputate before it threatens her life!"

Bubbles begged, as if words could change her situation. "Please, no. I don't want to lose any more of me."

Her tears inspired some of the clergyman's own. "Forgive me, child. It's not yet come to that."

Amber shouted, "There has to be another answer!"

Bubbles asked, "M—m—maybe you could just leave me there? I—I could dye my hair! Father Record, do you know anyone who would let me pose as their daughter?"

He patted her good hand. "I'm afraid not, but in any case we're several hours from Townsville Regional Hospital." He grunted as he rose to his feet. "And the closest _good_ alternative is another half-hour away still. Why don't I grab my coat and you girls can explain to me why you're so worried about your father while I drive?"

Amber shook her head. "Can't you just stitch her up and get some antibiotics for us?"

"I could, but—"

"Then do it!"

Blossom scolded, "Amber, please! Manners!"

Amber grunted and slammed her fist very, very gently into the wall, leaving no mark and venting no frustration. "It's just—I want to tell Bubbles she has to be strong and trust me and...and to say that thing that forces her to believe it."

Bubbles timidly asked, "So...that means it really would be all right? If Father Record takes care of me I won't lose my hand and we won't be caught?"

"I don't know!" Amber shouted in exasperation. "I—I think, maybe..." She sighed. "I don't know, but I don't like the feeling I get right now."

Blossom asked, "What feeling is that?"

Father Record stood quietly by the doorway, watching and listening to the very strange conversation.

"You know how...how I get feelings like this or that is the right thing to do? I think I'm finally starting to disagree with myself. What Ashley wants and what I want are different. I feel...like if the thing I'm worried about is whether Bubbles is going to lose her hand, then Father Record can't stop that. But I feel like if we go to the hospital, it's all going to go bad. But there has to be another answer. There has to be."

Amber walked over to Father Record. "Father, please. I just...I just feel like we need a little more time. Maybe... I dunno. You know this medical stuff. Weren't you a doctor? Can't you think of something?"

Father Record shook his head. "I was a doctor, but never a very good one. I never could work well under pressure."

Blossom laughed. "Are you sure you're related to Ms. Bellum?"

He smiled. "Cousins by blood. Well, first cousins once removed, if you care about that sort of thing."

Bubbles squeaked, "Could you please not say 'removed?'"

Amber pressed, "Don't you still have some doctor friends? Maybe you could get someone to come out here and...I dunno, we could keep 'em locked up for a few days so they don't squeal?"

Blossom asked, "Amber, you can't be serious. Kidnapping a doctor?"

Bubbles whimpered, "I'm okay with it."

Father Record shook his head. "No, I'm afraid that even if I still had friends in the profession, I wouldn't subject them to that. People depend on them, in any case. Now, come on. Up, up. Before this old man gets too tired to drive tonight."

Amber grabbed his wrist firmly. "We're. Not. Going. To. A. Hospital." She released him. "At least not to that hospital. I dunno... Maybe if I flew us to China or something. But then we'd stand out even more... Point is, if he finds us, we're dead."

Father Record smiled and shook his head. "Why would your father want to kill you?"

Blossom answered, "In his mind, he wouldn't be. He's been...making copies of us in his lab, implanting fake memories, and then killing the copies when they don't live up to his standards. I... I think this is the farthest we've ever gotten to escaping."

Amber shouted, "And if he catches us now, we'll never escape again! This is our last shot, and we've gotta make it count! Please, is there anything that might buy us some more time? Just a few days?"

Father Record stared at Bubbles's hand from across the room, brow furrowed. "Antibiotics alone might slow the damage, but without draining the infection, cutting out the dead tissue, stitching the wound... Honestly, child, if you're even slightly willing to quickly fly her to a quality hospital, I'd advise that over a long car ride."

Amber sighed and looked all around the room. To Blossom and Bubbles, it was clear she was using her penetrating vision, looking beyond the walls. Without their powers, they couldn't join in. Then again, what could they expect to find?

"What's that thing?" Amber asked, pointing through the wall.

"Um..."

Amber sighed in frustration and pushed Father Record aside, stepping out of the small room into the basement storage area. There was another walled off closet on the opposite corner, where some more expensive accoutrements were kept. Amber pointed. "In there? The great big metal container?"

"Ah," Father Record said, face softened with understanding. "That was left behind after your family's last visit. Your father said he didn't care what we did with it. Honestly, I never could decide." He approached the door and pulled a set of keys from his pockets. He spoke as he let them in. "It probably has an 'off' switch somewhere, but I'm afraid to do much with it. It seems like it still has power in it, what with the lights and all."

Standing upright, shoved in a corner, was some kind of high-tech, metal-and-glass casket. When Buttercup had passed away, she'd been loaded into this and eventually transported to earth. The aliens who had helped with the transport hadn't stuck around to reclaim it.

Blossom walked closer, gently rubbing her hand on the glass. A soft, blue glow filled the empty casket. Blood, somehow still red after all these years, smeared the area where Buttercup's head and shoulders had rested.

Blossom thought aloud, "This thing kept her body perfectly preserved. And the blood hasn't completely dried out, and there's no mold or other sign of contamination. Maybe this could be used as a stasis chamber for Bubbles? At least for a little while."

She turned around, "Amber, what do you think?"

Amber scowled at it. After the silence grew awkward she walked over to it, seeming like she couldn't decide whether to smash it or spit on it.

After allowing Amber to stare at it for a while, Blossom asked again, "What do you think? Is it safe to put Bubbles in here for a while, to buy us the time we need until...whatever?"

Amber kept scowling. "Yeah."

"Great! So... What's the problem?"

"Ashley wants me to smash it."

Bubbles shouted, "What?" She pleaded, "But...but... You say it'll help me keep my hand, right? I mean...it's the right thing to do?"

"Yeah."

Bubbles shrieked, "Then why the hell would she want you to smash it?" Bubbles coughed politely and added, "Excuse me, Father."

Softly, Amber asked, "Do you girls trust me?"

Blossom and Bubbles exchanged questioning glances.

"Well, yeah," Blossom said.

"Of course."

"Then...I need you to stay here for a while."

After a few beats, Blossom asked, "And what about you?"

Amber sounded distracted. "I'm not completely sure yet." A few moments later, "Stand back."

She grabbed the handles along the side of the high-tech casket and carried it down to the small bedroom.

Blossom asked, "Are you okay with this?"

"Sleeping in Buttercup's casket? Oh, sure. I mean, it's not like it'll give me whole new nightmares or anything. At least not until I get out of stasis. Or...is stasis just like being asleep?"

Amber pointed, "This button here opens it. I'll...grab a towel." She zipped off. A short while later, she zipped around again. Faster than they could perceive, the casket was open and clean.

As an extra measure for Bubbles's sake, Amber unfolded a fresh bath towel she'd taken from somewhere, laying it down upon the thinly-cushioned surface.

Bubbles gulped.

"Um... Should I use the bathroom first?"

Amber shrugged. "Why not?"

"I'll just... Excuse me." She trotted out.

Blossom fished for Father Record's hand and shook it. "Thank you for letting us hide here. We know this all sounds so strange, but we just need a little time to gather our strength and get on our feet again. As soon as we can safely let the whole world know we're alive and well, that's our plan." She met Amber's eyes briefly. "Once that happens, Professor won't be able to continue his work and we can try to get back to our lives. Or something like them."

Father Record sighed. "I admit, I don't understand what's going on here. But I don't feel comfortable keeping this secret from your father. Sara wouldn't be too pleased with me, either."

Blossom smiled shakily. "Um, not to worry you, but... We think Professor got to Ms. Bellum somehow. Maybe hypnosis, or something. It definitely wasn't fun to watch. If you talk to her, I promise it'll go straight to Professor and he'll come straight here in that super suit of his. I'm afraid we'll have to keep her out of the loop until she can be sorted out, too."

Father Record frowned at this, but said nothing.

After taking more than enough time for any number of bathroom activities, Bubbles finally returned. She only trembled slightly as she crawled into the casket.


	15. Anywhere But Here

Chapter 15

[Anywhere But Here]

Amber woke just shortly before dawn. She'd slept on the floor, although a bedroll and two extra sleeping bags for padding underneath was still better than the last few days. Blossom had the bed, and Bubbles...

Amber spared Bubbles only a quick glance as she dressed herself. Her peaceful sleep had the stillness of the dead. Amber couldn't be certain how long the device could be safe for a living person, but she knew it was safe enough for the time being.

Ashley was frantic. Amber could feel terror and confusion mounting. Whatever trail Ashley had planned, they were off that now.

The casket opened with a soft hissing sound. Amber reached under the towel she'd laid out and retrieved a small parcel wrapped in another towel. The casket was closed before Bubbles could awaken.

Amber's guilty gaze lingered on Blossom. She didn't need Ashley's powers to tell her that Blossom would be upset about running off on her own, without even a warning. It was just as well, because she could barely hear over Ashley's "shouting" in her head. The dread, the impulse to lash out.

She ignored Ashley and slipped outside before most of the locals could wake up. She flew towards Townsville, then swerved to enter it from a different direction. She believed that maneuver was important for some reason. Even Ashley could agree with it.

Sadly, it wasn't always obvious to Amber why a course of action was "right." In this case, she assumed that coming straight to the city would give Professor a clue as to where she'd come from.

Amber was almost completely over the Antidote X by this point, and she made good time.

Near the Utonium home, she flew as high as she could while still being in range of her penetrating vision. She did not see him on the second floor. Or the first. Or in the basement laboratory.

There was one room he might have hidden in. A small part of the basement lab had been walled off, creating an inner lab protected from even their enhanced senses. A place where Professor kept a sensitive computer and access to the house surveillance records.

Amber dropped a bit lower and peered deeper, to the sub-basement labs. From the highest levels all the way down to the Dynamo launch bay. Still no sign of him.

There wasn't a lot of time to waste. She flew to his bedroom window, whose glass had been knocked out during their escape nearly a week ago. The carpet near the window was still slightly damp from the last rain. A dresser still sat near the doorway, pushed just far enough aside for someone to squeeze in.

Amber continued scanning the house with her penetrating vision, especially in the basement areas. She crept down the stairs rather than run or fly, choosing alertness over speed. Ashley's powers gave her no special insight at the moment, one way or another. Everything felt a little too quiet.

In the basement, she kicked open the door to the inner lab and shot backwards, in case some trap lay unseen inside.

One did not.

The elevator to the lower levels had been repaired. Amber didn't remember the code, but she didn't need to. She hovered her finger over each button on the keypad in turn, waiting to feel whether it was right to press it. She felt some part of her say "yes," even though it was dwarfed by Ashley's insistent "no." Either way, it was clear enough which buttons to push in what order.

So far, she hadn't seen where Professor grew bodies and such for project Clean Slate, but she knew there had to be something here. She started in the Dynamo bay. From here, if she had to escape there was plenty of room to build up speed and burst through the ceiling. She also felt that it was the perfect place to go next. Ashley strongly disagreed.

The conflicting feelings were making her feel ill. The cool, glowing peace in her heart clashed with the tight, dark, hot feeling in her stomach. Amber wanted something Ashley didn't. Amber wanted something she knew had to be best for everyone, not just best for Ashley.

Whatever Ashley's plans were, if they involved telling Bubbles to toughen up and accept the amputation of her hand with determination and gritted teeth, then to hell with Ashley. Maybe Amber was a bit shortsighted, but she was forging her own path now. She was her own person.

And that person spotted the new, secret lab area of project Clean Slate. Not merely despite its protection, but because of it. It was protected from her senses like the small room in the basement. Disguised to look like rock and soil, from above she had seen nothing. From below, it very obviously blocked out the sky.

Amber climbed back into the elevator and changed floors. With a little work, she found the long tunnel connecting the regular and secret labs. Unfortunately, she didn't know how to open it, and didn't feel like fighting with Ashley for the answer. Instead Amber raised a foot and kicked through what seemed an ordinary section of wall.

The tunnel was lined with cinder block and concrete. It stretched on for well over a hundred feet, well past their property line high above.

From inside, her penetrating vision worked fine. Only on the inside, though. Now she couldn't see out.

Professor wasn't inside here, either. Given the state of his bedroom, for all she knew he hadn't been home in days.

But _they_ were here. The original bodies, kept in stasis chambers of Professor's own design. Judging from the thin layer of dust, he hadn't had anything to do with his real children for some time.

Near the bodies were three matching chambers filled with a yellowish goop. Amber could well guess that's where fresh clones were born. She was grateful there were none on standby. It meant that she wouldn't have to struggle with whether to destroy them or free them. It also suggested that it might not take long to grow new ones, or that Professor genuinely hoped and believed that each batch would be the last. Both were comforting thoughts.

But Professor had been killed. Undeniably. Had his clone come from one of those three chambers as well? Somehow that idea didn't fit.

Amber looked around the area again. Near the clone chamber were a general-purpose lab, a spacious computer room full of computer servers, and a room with a large vat of the yellow goop.

Amber wondered how the goop made it from the vat to the cloning pods. She entered that room and looked more closely, noticing that it was piped under the floor. The pipe was also disguised as rock, opaque to her penetrating vision. If it flowed anywhere else, it was hard to tell without tearing it apart.

She frowned. There wasn't time enough for all this caution. If Professor was hiding nearby, he'd have come after her by now.

Instead she went to the cloning chamber. She knew what she wanted to do, although it was still an unpleasant thought. Ashley seemed as if she agreed with Amber's plans, or wanted to agree. But Ashley was also confused. Ashley's sight was diminished. Her perception of the distant, shifting future that Amber was creating was just as vague and fuzzy as Amber's own. All the more reason to trust herself instead.

"Goodbye, girls," Amber said.

Soon after, the room was filled with pops and cracks of electricity and shattered glass, as well as the smell of melting steel and, distantly, burning flesh.

* * *

Father Record woke earlier that morning. He lived just a few houses down from the chapel/funeral-parlor/crematorium where the girls were hiding.

He found he slept less and less as the years passed, though perhaps a daily nap or two contributed to that. Puttering around the kitchen as the sun's rays began to beam was not unusual for him. He adjusted the slats on his blinds so that only thin lines of gold and yellow shone in.

At the moment he brushed off the dirty sides of a small cooler that had been stowed in his garage. Thankfully, the inside was free of dust, dirt, and cobwebs. The scrub land around this town was practically desert, and "dirt dust" was a real problem the few hundred residents faced.

He stopped for a long moment with his hand on the refrigerator. Not to decide whether to make the girls' sandwiches or breakfast first, but to wrestle with another decision.

He glanced at the clock. Perhaps it was not too early.

"Mmm...hello?" a female voice came from his phone.

"Sara? It's Hoff. It's not to early, is it?"

"Mmm...Hoff? Oh, good morning. No, it's not too early. I've just been readjusting after a little illness. Those summer colds are the worst. I'm actually glad you called—I lost my old cell phone and still need to get all my contacts added."

"Sara, this may sound strange, but...have you seen the PowerPuff Girls recently?"

"Have I... No, Hoff. Of course not. Why do you ask?"

"Well, Sara, I'm afraid I don't know what to do or say right now. Some girls that certainly look and act like them have come to hide in the chapel basement. They asked me to keep it a secret, and I might have, but they kept doing and saying stranger and stranger things. I'm just not sure that— Hello? Sara?"

Father Record checked his phone. The call had ended. Frowning deeply, he dialed again. After a few seconds, it went to voicemail.

He sighed and pocketed his phone for now. Sara would call him back when she could.


	16. Shattered Waltz

Chapter 16

[Shattered Waltz]

Professor had also risen early that day, thanks to fitful, fretful sleep. He was sitting in the chamber where his backup bodies were grown and stored. His bleary, dry eyes did not move from his computer screen when his cell phone rang. One hand held his coffee steady while his other answered.

"Professor Utonium," he said.

Sara's voice spoke flatly, "My cousin, Father Record, claims to have the girls in the chapel basement."

A blend of energy and relaxation crept into his features. "Thank you, Sara. What else do you know?"

"That's all I know."

"Thank you, Sara. Mightn't you please do the following after I hang up: delete your call history starting with your cousin's call this morning, turn your phone off, and stick it in the cushions of your couch. If you decide to go looking for your phone, you won't think to check the cushions of your couch until after dinner tonight. You will forget that you spoke to cousin Record or to myself this morning. That is all."

Professor hung up. He hardly fretted over Sara's conditioning at this point. It should all be quite reversible, after all. Not that he could ever, ever tell her the truth when this was over. She'd be happy enough to have the girls back someday, without worrying about her role in it.

He drained the rest of his coffee and stepped out of the chamber. It exited to the room holding the vat of yellowish goo from which entire human bodies could be built. From there he passed through the chamber with the original bodies in stasis. He walked briskly through the tunnel connecting to the rest of the lower labs, after which he donned his super suit and took to the sky.

Professor flew straight for the small, dusty, middle-of-nowhere town. He was unaware Amber was on the move. Amber was unaware her circuitous route was necessary to keep her out of his sights.

Less than twenty minutes after receiving the call, Professor landed in front of the chapel. Sensors picked up Blossom easily. There was another human, an adult male, in the room with her. Also another strange reading. The outline was human, but body temperature, vitals, and other characteristics were abnormal. In any case, at least one of his girls was missing.

Professor entered the chapel and descended. The suit's steps were heavy on the floor and stairs. He could "see" Blossom and the man moving around downstairs. He tuned in to listen.

Blossom asked, "If you're not expecting anyone, who could it be?"

"I don't know. I'll just head upstairs and check."

Blossom's fear was evident. "Be careful...it sounds way, way heavier than when you were walking around."

There was a pause. "You...said your father had some kind of armored suit?"

"Uh huh. You don't think he could have found us somehow, do you?"

A longer pause. "Oh, dear God, help us. Stay here, child."

Professor was already at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. The man ran out of the room and appeared at the foot of the stairs.

"I'm sorry, but this area is— Oh. Professor Utonium." His voice raised loudly and conspicuously when he said Professor's name. Professor saw the red silhouette of Blossom slip underneath the bed. The other form was already lying on the floor, very still, inside some strange container he could not recognize from sensor readings alone.

"What brings you out here?" Father Record asked. Professor continued descending. Father Record stood his ground, for the moment.

"I think you know. Thank you for calling Sara. I'll need to see your cell phone so I can remove the call history, but we'll talk about that later."

"I... I don't know..." Record shook his head, accepting that ignorance could not be feigned. "Please, son. What you're doing—what you're planning to do—it isn't right. Their lives are as precious as yours or mine."

"You're half right," Professor said. A small pin shot from his index finger. Within seconds, Father Record toppled to the ground.

Record's life was more valuable at the moment. After all, everyone else had spares.

Professor winced. The old man had broken a hip in the fall. He'd have to administer a dose of regenerative agent for his troubles. Not only should it fix the hip, but at his age it would probably add a few years to his life.

He scanned the fallen Father to see if there were any other signs of injury, and to make certain treatment could wait.

He then proceeded to the nearby room. The strange readings made sense when he realized Bubbles was being held in the stasis casket. Further scans revealed an advanced infection in her hand. He felt pangs of sympathy pain. He'd never wanted his girls to suffer like this. If not for Ashley's meddling, this would have been over days ago, with far, far less suffering.

Blossom clutched her trembling arms tight against her chest.

"It won't hurt. I promise," he said. "I don't suppose you can tell me where to find Buttercup? Or Ashley? Or Amber? Or whatever she's calling herself."

She didn't answer. Professor knelt down to see her with his own eyes. Flashlights automatically illuminated the shadowy space under the bed. Her eyes were clenched shut, the sides of her cheeks wet with tears.

"I'll fix Father Record. A little shot will leave him healthier than he's felt in years. In the end, I'll fix Sara. I'll fix you girls. I'll fix everything. Look, it's not so bad. I've died now, too. We're the same. It's not like you want to remember any of these bad things from the last week or so, do you?"

"Please shut up," she whined. She still didn't look at him. "You made everything bad. Even if we come back, you'll still be there. You can't fix that."

Professor jerked at the impact of the words. "Sweetie... Blossom—"

"I'm not your sweetie!" she screamed. Finally, she looked at him. "I'm just a corpse-to-be to you. And then what? Burned to ash and forgotten?"

"You are, and will always be, my precious little girl. All of you."

"Even Ashley?"

He shook his head. "I wanted that once, but that ship sailed long ago. I can't even begin to list all the horrible things she's done to us all. It's enough to make me lose my lunch." He laughed. "And this suit is a pain in the patootie to clean, I'll tell you what.

"Maybe someday I'll explain everything. When this is long, long behind us, and you girls have grown past all this. Long before then, I'll explain the healing comas were just a cover story. Maybe someday I'll even tell Buttercup the truth of her origins, after she's had plenty of years to acquire experiences and memories that are hers and hers alone.

"But for right now, the important thing is to scrub Ashley's taint from our lives. Only then can any of us be certain we're thinking and acting for ourselves, and not dancing to her little schemes."

Blossom spoke with venom that turned back into trembling. "Compared to you she doesn't seem so bad."

"Perhaps not now. Her efforts helped you all escape the big mean scary Professor. Helped you read at least some of my research notes. Tell me, Blossom—how much did you read? Not much, judging by the amount of time you were in that room. Do you know what Project Rebreather is? Or Project Clean Slate?"

"I know you gave up on the originals being contaminated 'mockeries of life,' and that you think implanting memories in new bodies is as good as bringing someone back."

"I see. And?"

"I saw you shoot Bubbles."

"That was a one-time thing. I never imagined it would come to that, and I've taken measures to prevent it happening again. For all the good it's done us, with Ashley's meddling."

"What has she done that's so bad, other than stand in your way!?"

"Plant strange ideas in your heads. Manipulate you. Try to kill me. She's the main reason I had to add the surveillance, once I realized she was sneaking around when I wasn't looking." He paused. "After... After I found her doing perverse things to you while you were powerless to stop her. Whether she's trying to accomplish something good is irrelevant. Recall that she murdered a purse snatcher in broad daylight and thought nothing of it. Not only are her goals questionable, her means of attaining them are inexcusable."

Blossom laughed. A short, curt, quip. "When you put it that way, you two sound like a perfect match. All I know or remember is Ashley got the three of us away from you." A beat. "For a little while."

"And where is Ashley now? Where is she when you need her most?"

Blossom smiled, in contrast to a new wave of tears. "You mean Amber? She left before I woke up. She asked if I trusted her. If we trusted her. We do—and that's more than I could ever say about you again."

Professor blinked away a tear. The words stung, but he took comfort in knowing that, soon, her reasons for saying them would be wiped away. Soon, Blossom would love and trust him again. Like none of this ever happened.

He raised an arm.

An alert flashed on his display.

INTRUDER.

His jaw hung open. So that's where Amber had gone.

Professor pointed at Blossom and shot out another tranquilizer pin. He'd dosed her with Antidote X less than twelve hours ago, so this ordinary sedative would be just as effective on her as on Father Record. It would keep her secure until he could return to properly and safely dispose of her.

For now, he had to try to stop the potential destruction of everything that he had worked for.

* * *

Blossom, after feeling the sting of the needle, gasped and reached for something at her side. A vial of Chemical X, laced with sedative, lay on the floor beside her. Worst case, she'd hoped she could drug herself to sleep before anything painful happened.

Professor's poisoned needle worked quickly. She barely cracked the seal before her hand fell limply to her side, barely holding the vial in place.

Through that small crack in the plastic seal, a slow trickle of liquid seeped onto her palm.


	17. Atone

Chapter 17

[Atone]

Professor moved with all possible haste. Within three minutes he knew he'd be far too late. The alert sounded when someone had entered the cloning labs. If it was Ashley, she could do all the harm she wanted in far less time. In another five minutes, he could finally see the tallest buildings in Townsville.

Whatever he planned to do, he had to do it quickly. Half-an-hour at most before flying back the way he'd just come. Before Blossom or Father Record woke up.

Ashley hadn't appeared on radar yet, but with her speed who knew how many ways she could run circles around him and stay out of range? Worse, in the dense city scape, his sensors had too many distractions to easily find her at long range.

He fought the urge to turn back. If Ashley wanted to distract him so she could move Blossom and Bubbles to a new safe haven, she'd already succeeded by now. He needed to assess the damages to the labs before moving forward. Needed to know his life, his work, could be salvaged.

He descended once more through the back-yard trapdoor, stepping into the hallways of the lower labs. He would curse himself for not having better security, but what could he do? What secret passcodes could he memorize that Ashley could not guess? What could he hide that she couldn't find?

No. No, he couldn't think like that. He had to stop. Those thoughts were not productive thoughts. She was fallible. Whatever she was, she was not omniscient. If she had any idea how much he loved his family, she never would have opposed him. She could be beaten. She had to be beaten.

The originals were destroyed. He had expected this.

The three cloning chambers were destroyed. He had expected this.

The server room was a stinking heap of melted plastic and wiring that he could smell even through the suit's filtration system. He had expected this.

The vat of biogel was shattered. The goop spilled onto the floor, making wet sucking sounds and threatening to make him slip as he walked through it. He had expected this.

He passed through the biogel room, pressing his hand to an empty spot of wall and waiting for it to open and let him through. To go into the "failsafe" lab where his own backups were kept.

It was intact. The goop only now began spilling into the otherwise-untouched room.

He had not expected this.

He quickly walked from one end of the narrow room to the other. It was easy to confirm the chambers were undamaged. He checked the status indicators on the first two chambers, which were still primed with biogel and waiting to create new clones of himself. All others were still flagged "in use." Just as he'd left them.

Still, he looked around at the space, feeling its fragility. How narrowly the secret space within a secret space had escaped notice. These precautions were not designed to fend off any of the girls at full power and full hostility. One or the other, but not both.

He'd given into hope before he had sufficient evidence to do so. Believed it was time to restore the girls to their full power, and that all would be well.

Next time would be different.

Professor left the wrecked spaces behind him. It was all he could do for now.

If nothing else, he collected two vials of regenerative agent and tucked them in a hip compartment of the suit. Father Record would only need one, but it never hurt to have spares. Not given the way the day was going.

* * *

Amber left the video camera on the police chief's desk without being noticed. It had required several minutes of effort when she felt like time was very short, but she believed it had to be done. Ashley seemed ambiguous about this, and about many other things. If Amber didn't know better, she'd say the child was sulking.

She'd left a second camera on the mayor's desk. Somehow, she didn't need Ashley's powers to predict he would treat it like a toy and start recording pointless things as soon as he discovered it.

Amber had visited Ms. Bellum and, among other things, crushed her new cell phone and stole an old video recorder of hers. Amber's visit ensured Sara would eventually contact Professor. Leave him wondering about the recording. Lead him to the mayor and his camera. By then, full to capacity with his own nonsense as if he'd overwritten anything else. A perfect decoy. A failsafe in case things didn't go exactly as she planned today.

Mommy would be proud. She and Ashley both felt warmed by the thought.

Amber paused atop a skyscraper, trying to slow her pulse. Now that she was actively aware of her history, her nature, and the special powers she'd inherited from Ashley, she was actively tapping into it all. Reaching for an awareness that was beyond her understanding. The farther she went, the more it wrapped itself around her. It was getting simultaneously easier and harder to think.

So she straddled that line as well as she could. She felt certain that if she slipped too deep, her own thoughts, beliefs, and feelings would be lost. If she left her own humanity too far behind, whatever Ashley was would have her completely.

But then, that was inevitable, wasn't it? So long as those powers were there, all she could do is slowly drift closer and closer to the center of the maelstrom. At least this way, she was facing it on her own terms. Doing what she could in the time she had left. Using it, before she had no choice but to be used by it.

Ashley certainly did not approve. Her wailing and thrashing had stopped, yet Amber still knew this was not what Ashley wanted. Just as Ashley knew—for the moment, at least—that she couldn't stop Amber from doing it. Ashley watched, like a great hunting cat perched in a tree. Waiting patiently. It was not a battle of wills; only time.

Time passed. Past, present, and future alike rushed by. Amber looked ahead as much as she could risk, at times fearing she peered too deeply into the kaleidoscopic fractal of possibilities. No, she could only look to the near-term. She couldn't dare look more than a few hours ahead in any detail.

Finally, the time arrived. She swallowed her fear and tensed around the tightness in her stomach. Was this Ashley's fear? Buttercup's? Her own? Perhaps all three feared what was coming.

Amber flew from her skyscraper perch, straight towards Professor, who was already coming her way.

She dove, she and Ashley agreeing they needed to change course. Small pops accompanied a volley of bursting bombs in the air above them. Amber weaved and twisted, miraculously avoiding every drop of Antidote X raining from above.

As she flew under, she unleashed her eye beams. Aside from marring the suit's finish, they didn't seem to have any effect. Then again, that wasn't the point.

For that matter, she'd used less than her full power. Just as she now flew a little slower than she could have. To further sell her ploy, she paused to throw off her top, pretending it had accumulated some slight bit of Antidote X as she'd flown under the clouds of it.

He might question her deception, but not too much. Not too soon. She needed her powers. She also needed him to believe he had the advantage. That he could win.

He took advantage of her "distraction" with her shirt to fire a beam of blinding white energy. It impacted her hard, creating a shockwave and a tremendous noise that burst skyscraper windows within hundreds of feet.

This was good. People needed to notice. Their existence needed to become public.

Threading a needle through a telescope. Amber just hoped she could thread this one at arm's length. Too much at stake. Too many possibilities.

Professor's blast sent her hurtling through a nearby building. She had enough presence of mind to scrape her fingernails across her face and shoulder, breaking the skin. Further selling her diminishing powers with the illusion that steel, glass, and concrete alone could ever harm her.

She righted herself and stopped her motion as he flew through the hole made by her passage. Another cluster of Antidote X bombs, which she flew up and away from—right into another blast of white energy. To Professor, a clever one-two punch. To Amber, just another phase of the plan. Another step of the dance.

This blast sent her higher into the sky. She twisted in the air to steady herself and dove for the heart of the city. To Townsville Park, and a familiar, lonely observatory on the volcano.

Amber seemed in a rush, but allowed Professor to be faster and block her way at the last moment. She plowed into him, sending them both crashing through the ceiling, and several floors below.

They were in a sort of trophy room. Various artifacts and art, likely stolen, were mixed with bits of technology. Some of his own invention, some conquered from others. Many were in glass-enclosed display cases scattered throughout the floor space. Arranged in a perfect grid pattern.

Mojo himself was no longer here. He had been the Harvester's first victim.

The impact drove Professor partway into the floor. Amber continued forward, rolling on the ground "haphazardly." She stopped after crashing through one case that held a ceremonial, gold-plated shield. Adorned with precious gems.

A roar of thruster fire on the back of his suit sprung Professor onto his feet as Amber rolled onto hers, holding the shield in front of her.

Amber spoke as Professor took aim. " _Sham bili bali ya!_ "

He fired as the last syllable passed through her lips. The legends around the shield were considered fairy tale, as the activation phrase had been long lost to time. But at Amber's command, the gems flared to life. The white beam of energy was deflected to either side, the shockwave shattering display cases as it went.

Professor turned to survey the room around them as automated turrets deployed from the undamaged parts of the ceiling.

Amber was already using the distraction to retreat into the corner. She moved as slow as she dare, not much more than humanly-possible speed. She cowered in the corner as the turrets took fire, hiding herself behind the shield.

Professor heard the muffled dinging and denting of the rounds as they impacted his suit. With little more than a thought, he deployed various tiny missile launchers. They fired simultaneously, destroying all the turrets with resounding explosions that sounded like fireworks.

Amber continued cowering in the corner. Professor showed no hesitation in firing another volley of Antidote X bombs. She did not dodge. The shield did not protect her. Her powers were gone for real now.

Already she had played out the next minute in her mind. Over and over, all the possibilities she could grasp and more. Such a small glimpse into the very near future, but it almost consumed her. Only the sudden and complete loss of her power had saved the last shred of her sanity. Of herself.

She waited as he approached. The trembling in her arms, her panting breath—these were genuine. She knew exactly what was coming, but remained afraid. No despite knowing, but because she knew.

Professor's heavy steps brought him next to her with alarming speed. To him, this was Ashley. It could be no other. No one else could do what she'd done. No one else could endanger his family as she had. There was no attempt at soothing words. No comfort offered. This was not Blossom, nor Bubbles. This was a monster.

Without pause, he batted the shield away.

Behind the shield had been a sheathed dagger, also golden. Also glowing. She'd unsheathed it after she'd begun cowering, after Professor's initial, cursory scans of the shield failed to detect it as a separate item.

Amber had began standing even as Professor's arm batted the shield away. She willed the dagger's magic, driving it to its target.

Professor burst backwards just before the weapon made contact, but only by a few feet. Amber clutched the dagger with all her might as it pulled her along, unerringly seeking its target with all the power it had. She screamed as it wrenched her shoulder from its socket, just before her grip gave out.

Professor gasped as the blade passed through his armor's chest like it didn't even exist. He immediately felt himself fading. Distantly, knew his heart had been pierced.

The last thing his eyes saw was the kneeling Amber, clutching her shoulder and gritting her teeth.

The last thought that passed through his head was the command to activate the suit's self destruct sequence.

Amber closed her eyes.


	18. Blood Curse

Chapter 18

[Blood Curse]

A television mounted high on the wall quietly played a newscast.

"More on today's bizarre aerial battle and the explosion that rocked the lair of missing villain, Mojo Jojo. Townsville's chief of police, Joss T Facts, made available the following video recorded message, which will will air unedited."

Amber's face appeared on screen, sitting on Sara Bellum's living room couch. In the background, one could faintly hear her beating on her barricaded bedroom door.

"Dad, this has to stop. You can't keep burying us like this.

"It's time. We're ready. The world is ready. You're ready.

"It's time for the PowerPuff Girls to come back."

She paused, then recited a long series of numbers and letters.

"Go back to why you wanted a Clean Slate. This is it, dad. This is where everything starts."

She smiled. "It's going to be okay." She sniffled and wiped at her eyes before tears formed. Her voice, however, was incredibly strained. "I love you. I love all of you. And I always will."

Amber reached for the camera, and soon the news anchor returned to the screen.

"This seems to support suspicions that the mysterious figure in the sky was indeed Buttercup Utonium, long believed dead. Experts and common folk alike are left scratching their heads, wondering how this could happen. Many point to the lack of public, open-casket funerals for any of the girls. But if they had never actually died, then why pretend that they had?

"A search of the Utonium home has yielded no further answers at this time, although access to the lower laboratory levels remains barred. While the house appears unoccupied, there are clear and recent signs of residence, including in the bedrooms of the three Utonium children.

"Disturbingly, there are also signs of struggle and, perhaps, violence. Doors and windows show signs of an effort to break out of the house using power tools. Investigators were forced to climb through a bedroom window that had been cut loose from its frame, as conventional tools were unable to break through the front door or the ground-level windows.

"Was Professor Utonium hiding his girls all these years? Perhaps protecting them from a world he now believed had become too dangerous for them to live in?

"If so, where are Blossom and Bubbles? What became of Buttercup and the man in the white power armor fighting earlier this morning? Heroes from the Association of World Super Men have investigated Mojo Jojo's lair and found only signs of an explosion of incredible power. Not enough power, they say, to kill a PowerPuff Girl. But more than enough to vaporize the body of any ordinary human being.

"Did some tragedy befall the suited man and/or Buttercup? Or did they both escape unharmed and unnoticed?

"All efforts to reach Professor Utonium have failed. No matter how desperately anyone has tried. Close family friend and colleague, Sara Bellum, appears to be severely distressed by recent events. Eyewitnesses state she seemed obsessed with contacting the Professor, apparently to the point of ignoring all other attempts to communicate with her. She has been admitted to psychiatric care.

"One thing is for certain: the world is holding its breath, waiting for answers."

Blossom muted the television and checked on Bubbles, lying in the hospital bed beside her. Her hand had been treated for infection, and Bubbles requested a splash of the sedative-laced Chemical X to speed her recovery. Blossom would have to fill her in later.

Father Record was in surgery to replace his broken hip.

Blossom had been amazed to find herself awake and with her powers (and life) intact. It had taken some time for the grogginess and lethargy to pass, but she wasted no time in stowing Father Record in the stasis coffin with Bubbles and flying them to a hospital north of the border. Fortunately, the first nurse and doctor she spotted had been sympathetic and very helpful. With any luck, their presence here was secret enough for a little while.

She'd been worried sick about Amber all day. The news reports did not help matters.

Had Amber seen this coming? Did she think the best option was to lure Professor away at the last moment, rather than prevent his arrival or flee to a new location?

Blossom had no idea. The recording didn't really answer anything, either. She wondered if the numbers and letters Amber had rattled off had any meaning to them. Who they were for.

All she could do was trust. And worry. Mostly worry.

If Amber was still okay, she'd be here by now, right? With Ashley's powers, she'd find them, wouldn't she? Or leave some kind of obvious message to calm her fears?

Blossom fought the sick, sinking feeling in her stomach.

All she could think about was Amber's recording. She never said anything approaching a farewell, but a tearful "I love you and I always will" inspired her to think only the worst.


	19. Torn Angelus

Chapter 19

[Torn Angelus]

Professor woke with a gasp. It was as if he'd woken from a nightmare, but he could remember no dream. Only the panic when he realized he lay on the stiff, cold surface of one of his cloning chambers, rather than his own bed.

He bumped his head on the lid and cursed. Already it began moving, unsealing itself with a quiet hiss.

Last he remembered, he'd chased after Amber or Ashley or whoever it was, eventually losing track of her after getting hit by an airplane. What had gone wrong since then? What happened yesterday that forced Professor IV to be awoken?

He snatched a lab coat to cover his nakedness and sat at the computer terminal, eager to look up what he could. He immediately made a mental note that the super suit needed to record everything it could and immediately send it back home, in case anything like this ever happened again.

He stopped, hands frozen in air just before they began typing his password.

Professor looked down with a displeased expression. He lifted one of his bare feet and felt the sticky pull of the biogel spread across the floor. Seemingly flowed in from the secret entrance to the room with the biogel vat.

He frowned, then surveyed the room with his backup cloning chambers.

Something amiss. There were four chambers open, counting his own. His should have been the third.

Stranger still, the extra chamber was at the far end of the room. Out of sequence.

Instead of eagerness, Professor logged into his computer with caution. His eyes kept shifting around as he worked as quietly as he could. Unable to shake the feeling of being watched. Or trapped.

The status of the Project Clean Slate server farm was down. He looked again at the biogel spilled onto the floor, and to the open, empty chamber at the far end of the room.

The mysteriously-opened cloning chamber showed no record of memory implantation. Had someone opened it to steal one of his inert bodies? Who? Why?

He scribbled a note to himself on a nearby pad. "Gel spread into this room before my awakening. Servers down. Cause unknown. Last cloning pod inexplicably open. Going to search the lower labs, then the house. — 4" He set a temporary dead man's switch for an hour from now. He had that much time to check in before Professor V would wake up and find the hasty note.

He slid his feet into a pair of slippers, but they were a mixed blessing. They wanted to stick in the gel and slide off his feet or trip him up. He almost decided to leave them behind.

His heart sank at the sight of the shattered vat on the other side of the door. When he more clearly smelled the faint, lingering odors of burning components. He was glad for the slippers when he started walking around the scattered bits of glass and metal.

There was a long pause when he saw the original bodies were destroyed. Was Clean Slate still salvageable? Was anything? His only hope was that the current batch was still alive and well, and could be captured somehow.

Standing in this mess, all but certain he'd already died trying, this was a faint, thin hope.

Despite creeping through the corridors feeling like he was the next victim in a horror movie, Professor encountered nothing unusual. He outfitted himself in the spare super suit. The original suit was nowhere to be seen.

Feeling marginally safer, Professor queued up the construction of two more suits and made way to the elevator shaft. He also began audiovisual recording. He'd upload what he captured manually, until he could find the time to make everything automatic.

The elevator doors had been torn open. The ceiling of the elevator as well. In both cases, it looked more like something had forced its way out, rather than in.

Professor ignited his thrusters and flew up to the basement lab. He was unsettled to find small, numbered cards beside various items on the floor and shelf. Including the splatters of Bubbles's blood he'd yet to clean up. Either police had been here, or Ashley was taunting him. Bad either way.

At the top of the stairs leading to the kitchen was yellow police tape. Already snapped and hanging limp at either side.

Professor fired up his scanners, mentally scolding himself for not doing so sooner. Shaken up or no, he had to be at his best.

Almost immediately, he saw a green silhouette standing in the living room, near the sofa. No other signs of life.

He kept careful attention on green as he slowly crept up the stairs. Several times, his HUD distorted and a strange, static sound rang out. Possibly a manufacturing defect. He'd have to do more thorough tests on the next suits.

His heavy steps plodded through the kitchen as he approached the living room. When he arrived, he turned off the scans so he could view her with his own eyes.

Ashley stood behind the sofa. Barefoot. Wearing a white labcoat, and nothing else. She seemingly stared at the television screen, which showed only a plain, blue background.

She turned to look at him. She seemed dazed. Confused. Professor felt about the same right now.

"Dad?" She asked uncertainly, eying the suit. "What... How long was I out? What happened to the house? Where... Where is everyone?"

Professor triggered a more thorough scan. There was a 3% deviance from known data. Not enough to fail to identify her and label her green, but unexpected all the same. This was not the same girl he'd been chasing these last few days. A fresh Ashley clone? Something else?

"Ash— Buttercup, what's the last thing you remember?"

"I... I think it was the ship. We were fighting, and... I went out." She grimaced and rubbed her head. "I think I got hurt." She went silent for a long while, staring at the corner of the room and thinking. She seemed uneasy. Not certain whether she wanted to say something.

Finally, she said, "I...had the weirdest dream. That you were carving into my head." Finally, she made eye contact again. "Dad, I'm..." Tears started to well. "I'm kind of freaking out right now."

On instinct, Professor reached out to comfort her. Then he saw his armored hand and arm and hesitated. Remembered that he wasn't in full control of the situation.

He lowered his arm back to his side and asked, "Do you know who Ashley is?"

A strained, "No."

"The Harvester?"

"No."

"Buttercup, I—we need to confirm something. Whether you're really...really Buttercup, somehow. Or whether you're actually a girl named Ashley, who looks like you, but isn't you. Do you understand?"

Her emotions in check now, she replied, "Not really. Dad, you're not making much sense. Can you just level with me for a minute?"

Professor glanced around and then looked up the stairs. "Sweetie, why don't you put on some clothes and meet me downstairs."

The girl squirmed. "Could you...maybe stand outside while I get dressed? I...I really don't want to be alone right now." More signs of strain and worry in her voice.

Buttercup was never so clingy. Or Ashley's clinginess was simply so much more. Regardless, Professor steeled himself for a fight. For another disappointment. For hopes of Buttercup's return dashed with Ashley's perseverance yet again.

He glanced outside, at the early dawn light. How much noise could he make without attracting attention, if somehow he made this quick? Could he subdue her? Kill her and collect a tissue sample to grow another copy safely later?

"Of course, honey. I'll be right behind you."

Target green craned her neck to check her backside, confirming the lab coat sufficiently covered her backside for the trip up the stairs. "Okay."

As they climbed, Professor started reviewing all the logs for the open chamber in his clone room. Yes, yesterday it had been opened without implanting memories in the Professor clone inside. Then it had been primed with biogel. However, no biological sample had been injected. Yet, a few hours ago, it detected healthy vitals and entered cleaning mode. Flushed out the remaining gel and washed the chamber clean. Then, even while Professor IV's memories were being implanted, the mystery chamber opened when it detected a conscious occupant.

By now, he stood outside Buttercup's bedroom, back against the door frame.

The girl said, "You could talk to me, you know. It's kind of creepy with you just standing there. And what's with the new PowerProf suit?"

"Just some field work. Tell me, Buttercup, would you mind if I took a small blood sample? To confirm—" your identity? "—your condition?"

"I guess that's okay."

Good. Professor could run some quick tests. All the Clean Slate data was too much to ask, but he had the necessary software backed up safely. Enough to allow him to visualize the results. Find out how much of Ashley was in this thing. Was it made from the original Ashley? From the hollow, scrubbed Amber? If he drew a large enough blood sample, he could store the excess in stasis for growing new copies.

Except he had no working stasis units, given the mess of the Clean Slate lab. He pondered alternatives, then remembered seeing Buttercup's stasis casket in the chapel basement.

A surge of hope and exhilaration flowed through his chest. He drew an involuntary breath.

It was too much to consider. The possibility of a fresh biological sample from the original Buttercup.

It was too much to hope to bear losing it. Too much hope to risk clinging to. This was Ashley's doing. It almost certainly had to be. A clever trap. A mixture of blood sources coming together to create some twisted chimera of a person, an unholy blend of Buttercup and Ashley in body, as Professor had created in mind.

But if it was purely Buttercup... Ashley's taint could be eliminated from the world completely. He would never have revive another Ashley clone ever again. Only Blossom and Bubbles—properly scrubbed, of course.

One down, two to go.

She asked, "Um, are we going to do this downstairs or something?"

Professor realized he'd been standing still and quiet for a bit too long. He turned around to see her standing in her street clothes—denim jeans and a green T-shirt.

She reached out, gently putting her hand on his armored arm. Another brief burst of distortion and static drowned out part of her speech. "—you feeling all right?"

"I'm fine. Yes, let's head downstairs."

Professor drew a blood sample with a polyduranium hypodermic needle. The girl bore it with a quiet grimace.

He said, "While we wait, why don't you ask me some questions, hmm?" After all, if he created duplicates from this blood sample, they wouldn't remember the answers. It wouldn't be part of the bodily memory.

Come to think of it, bodily memory would be all this girl had. Bodily memory, and nothing more. According to the logs, no memory injection had occurred. He could accept that a blood sample and a huge wash of regenerative agent could trigger growth on its own. If her powers were kept intact throughout the process, bodily memory might return far more quickly than he'd ever permitted during Clean Slate. Perhaps even by the time she'd fully grown.

Not only that, Ashley's blood needed coaxing to grow an eleven-year-old body rather than a five-year-old one. It would never have grown the girl beside him.

A mix. He reminded himself it could still be a mix. Or tampered with.

She finally asked, "Okay, first question. Are we safe? Is anyone in danger?"

He couldn't repress a smile. "No, sweetheart. Nobody's in danger right now."

"All right. So my sisters—they're not in a jam right now?"

"Not that I know of," he said honestly.

"All right. So, how long? How long since we went out to space?"

Professor considered his answer carefully, then decided on truth. "A few years." And a little white lie to head off the next question. "You've been...sleeping."

"What?" She was confounded. Almost disgusted. "You mean..." She looked down at her barely-pubescent body. "I'm the _little_ sister now?"

Professor shook his head in surprise. After all this time, all of his attempts to create Buttercup from scratch, never once did she react in that way to the news of years passing. Never once did she react to, or even consider any potential distancing of herself and her sisters.

He stammered, "Um...er... Not exactly. They've been— Your sisters have been...held back. As well. Also."

"Held back? What do you mean? What's happened these last few years? What did I miss?"

"Hold on." He raised a hand and looked slightly to the side, analyzing the nearly-raw results of the blood sample processing.

Gross physical variations matched Ashley. Eye color, build, etc.

Deeper examination did not match Ashley. Sections of DNA determining superpower variations revealed none of Ashley's future sight. Bubbles's omnilingualism. Its contents were a mystery. The overall landscape of bodily memory was unfamiliar territory to him as well, even at a glance.

Professor uploaded the suit's recordings to his home servers, just in case.

The suit whirred and clicked as its front opened up. It remained standing, hollow, when Professor stepped out of it. He embraced his daughter with so much strength he almost hurt himself. His voice broke as a steady stream of tears began to flow. "I've missed you so much."

Buttercup moaned an embarrassed, "Dad," but halfheartedly returned the embrace with one arm.


	20. Ex Umbra

Chapter 20

[Ex Umbra]

Blossom asked, "What do you think?"

Bubbles peered down from the clouds, holding her bandaged hand close to her chest to keep it relatively dry. "I don't see the super suit anywhere. No weird stuff in his pockets or body. Or hers."

"Ditto. But it has to be a trap, right?"

"Probably."

Far below was the small, dusty down. Inside the chapel/crematorium, sitting lazily on the benches, were Professor Utonium and Amber. Or Ashley. Or...someone.

Blossom and Bubbles had long left the hospital behind, bidding farewell to the recovering Father Record. But they still managed to catch a news broadcast with a recorded message, made for them by the two sitting in the chapel below.

It was almost disgustingly upbeat. After all they'd been through, all _he'd_ put them through, his smile couldn't seem anything more than a disingenuous politician smile. The girl's smile felt like something out of the uncanny valley. It was far, far easier to imagine a brainwashed puppet than a happy daughter.

Mostly, the message was a brief apology from the Professor, along with a request to, "Meet us where everything started. Where everything ended." Professor wrapped his arm around the green-eyed girl in seeming emphasis when he added, "The place where something precious was frozen in time."

Bubbles broke the silence. "We could force this to be public. Live broadcast our meet-up on international news. He can't do anything too horrible then, right?"

"True. But we couldn't exactly have a frank discussion then, now could we?"

"Why not?"

Blossom raised an eyebrow. "You mean letting the whole world know we're brainwashed clone zombies made from suicidal, murderous, disturbed people?"

"I was thinking letting whole world know about our serial prolicidal, god-playing dad. But you have a point."

Blossom said, "I could go in alone. If anything went wrong—"

"Then I'd be alone. Forever."

Blossom gulped. "Right."

More silence. Then Bubbles said, "You're going in there no matter what I say?"

"Pretty much."

"Because of Amber?"

Blossom said nothing. Needed say nothing.

Bubbles sighed. "Well... After everything else that's happened—everything I can remember, anyway—I guess we might be better off all in one place. Together alive. Together dead."

Blossom asked, "Even if it means Professor just gets back to his old shenanigans? The whole world none-the-wiser?"

Bubbles frowned. "If they figure out what's wrong with Sara, they're gonna be wise to something. And it'll be suspicious if we—if some kind of PowerPuff girls don't go public soon."

"True. Amber did kind of force his hand. And people know we've been trying like hell to break out of that house."

More silence. Again, broken by Bubbles. "Things can't ever go back to the way they were again. Can they?"

Blossom steeled herself. Took a deep breath. Let it out. "They can't stay the way they are now, either. Let's go."

Buttercup turned her head to see the newcomers. "Yo," she greeted. "Who's Amber?"

Blossom and Bubbles turned to each other, surprised and concerned.

Buttercup, misreading their actions, said, "Sorry. I was kinda eavesdropping on you."

Blossom found it unexpectedly hard to ask her question. Had to fight past the churning, empty feeling in her stomach. "So you're...not Amber?"

"Nope," she said curtly. "Never heard of her."

Professor stood, bracing himself on the pew. "I believe Amber collected preserved blood from Buttercup's—" he glanced at her before continuing, finding the words suddenly harder to say. "From her casket. Used it to regenerate her. Including all her memories, encoded into each of your special bodies as much as they are in your brains. Then Amber...intentionally sacrificed her life."

Buttercup asked, "Oh, you're talking about Ashley?"

Blossom was filled with sudden rage. "Her name is _not_ Ashley!" She stomped her foot through the floor boards, then cracked another plank by pulling it back out. Embarrassed, frustrated, and heartbroken, she forced her words through a tearful voice. "It's Amber."

Professor said, gently, "She's right, Buttercup. This girl— Amber was something separate from Ashley. You read her message. You know she saw Ashley as someone separate from herself."

In a cold tone, Bubbles asked, "What message?"

Professor nodded his head towards one of the pews near the entrance. Blossom and Bubbles saw an envelope.

As Bubbles retrieved it, Professor explained, "Her farewell video had a code. I used it as an alternative decryption key for one of my project files. The result was mostly garbage, but there were bits of plain text here and there. I cleaned up what was there and printed it out for you both to read. I can arrange for you to see the original later if you'd prefer."

Blossom spastically blinked away tears. Bubbles stood pressed against her side, one arm wrapped around her while the other held the letter for them to read.

* * *

I'm sorry things turned out this way. I'm bringing Buttercup back to you all. I'm also getting rid of Ashley. I don't think things will ever be okay if she's around. The more I start to understand her, the more I realize I can't. Nobody can. She's more than we are. She's less than we are. She comes from a place so much deeper than we can understand, but she's too shallow to understand us.

Besides, it'd be weird for all of us to exist anyway. I'm not Buttercup. I'm not Ashley. I don't want to die, but I'm going to anyway. Ashley's eating me from the inside.

Mom. Sister. Blossom. I love you. So much it hurts. I hate doing this to you. I want so badly to look deep into the future, to see if you'll ever forgive me. To find the right words to make sure I can give you peace and happiness. But I know if I even try to look that far ahead, I'll never come back. She will. It's hard enough thinking up the code to give you this stupid message. So please, please be happy. Please. I love you.

You too, Bubbles. Please take care of everyone. People call you a crybaby, but they're wrong. Nobody calls Buttercup weak because she gets hurt and bleeds. They call her tough because she keeps going, and is never afraid to get hurt again. Nobody should call you weak because you cry. You're strong, because you keep going, and you're never afraid to love. Please love everyone. Dad, too.

Dad, I don't even know what to say. You're not the person we remember. However you see us, we see you the same way. Tainted and dark and strange. Dangerous. We don't know how to fix you. We don't know if you can be fixed. We're afraid you'll never be happy with us. You'll never stop tweaking and changing us to fit your ideals. Never let us be who we are. Never let us grow into the people we're supposed to grow into. We're your kids. All of us. We always were. We're afraid of you, but we still love you. I hope you still love us.

Buttercup, I'm sorry we never met. I'm sorry I brought you into this mess we've become. Just do your best. And try reading Consortium of Justice with Blossom sometime. It was fun.

I'm not Ashley. I'm not Professor. I don't know if any of this will work. I can't force anyone to do or be anything. I just hope you can all find it in your hearts to forgive and love each other. All I can do is put my faith in all of you and hope you do the right things. It's the only thing I can ask. It's my last request. Be happy.

Goodbye.

* * *

After they finished reading, Blossom embraced Bubbles and sobbed loudly into her shoulder. Bubbles returned the hug and cried quiet tears of her own.

Buttercup watched in awkward uneasiness. Professor in deep shame. Both waited, giving them time to recover.


	21. The Diary

Chapter 21

[The Diary]

Buttercup said, "I'm sorry, Blossom. Bubbles. I didn't know— I didn't think she meant that much to you. I figured, you'd only known her a few weeks, maybe. That you thought she was me for most of that." She adjusted her position in the pew to view them more comfortably. "I figured it'd be more like Bunny. Sad, but, you know. 'We'll get over it' sad, not 'woe is me' sad."

Blossom shot a glare at Professor. "And I suppose anything you know about Ashley or Amber, you heard from him?"

Bubbles put her bandaged hand on Blossom's shoulder, encouraging calm. She said, "Let's talk. What do you want? Where do we go from here?"

Professor inclined his head at her hand. "For starters, I've brought some regenerative agent for your hand. Enough to grow a new one from scratch, if things had gotten that bad. And some for Father Record as well. It seemed he broke his hip when he fell."

Blossom's face contorted in rage. "' _He_ broke his hip?' 'When _he_ fell?' Well, the goddamned nerve of him! You left him there! Left us all there! Put us all there!"

Bubbles had to put her other hand on Blossom's other shoulder, because her injured hand was not well enough for the strong, gentle squeeze she gave. "My hand is going to be fine, eventually. His hip, too. Did you hurt anyone else who tried to help us? Do you even know if anyone else tried to help us?"

He replied, "If you mean Kendall, he's uninjured. I suppressed his memory of the encounters with a powerful mental suggestion. More of a mystical form of hypnotism than a medical or psychological one. It's still reversible. Sara's as well. As for the regenerative agent, it's in Father Record's house. We can fetch it now, if you'd like. A peace offering."

Bubbles frowned. "No thanks. I'm not sure I'll ever let you treat me for anything ever again."

Blossom backed her up. "How do we know it's not a poison? Or a sedative? Or a mind control serum?"

Professor held up his hands, palms up, shrugging. "Trust has to start somewhere. It can start with me. Should start with me. That's why I left the suit behind."

Bubbles said, "Trust? Yeah, it'd be a two-on-one fight, but you did bring a bodyguard."

Buttercup protested. "Hey! I'm not taking sides! Professor filled me in on a few things, and said you girls should do the rest. He told me we'd all died. That we were all regrown from our old bodies using this stuff he invented. Only difference between you and me, far as I know, is that he didn't tinker with my head.

"You, me, Blossom—we're all that's left. No more samples. No more copies. No more originals. The entire lab he was using for that stuff is busted up good.

"That's it. Basically it, anyway. I don't know what he did or tried to do, but, yeah, I think we should be grateful to be alive! But he did say that he'd done some bad stuff. That after hearing you girls out, I might take your side.

"I'm not stupid, you know. I know there's something fishy here, but unlike you, I'm not passing judgment yet."

Blossom and Bubbles both opened their mouths to protest. But it was Professor who quickly interjected. "Buttercup, please. I understand their fears. You don't know how relieved I was to convince myself you are who you are. You... You don't know how much I'm still trying to convince myself of that. That this isn't some elaborate ruse pieced together by Ashley. Some terrible, horrible Trojan horse set to destroy our family.

"We've been hurt, Buttercup. All of us. I'm still shaken. I always will be. Expecting tragedy lurking in dark corners, waiting to reveal itself.

"This is not easy for me. It can't be easy for them, either. I never hated them. Never wanted to hurt them. My enemy has always been Ashley. Her behavior has been so...indescribable. Unexpected. Insidious. I don't want to believe she's gone. I'm too afraid to take that risk. But I must."

Blossom, nearly shouting, asked, "What was your problem? What went wrong with you and Ashley? Why did she ever have to be your enemy? Did you ever think that if you weren't trying to smother her out of existence, that she might not need to fight back?"

Professor nodded. "Good points, all. So good, in fact, that you're only missing one key point: I tried. I tried, Blossom. I accepted long ago that Buttercup was gone. I tried to bring back the three of you instead. From the dead, not into new bodies. That came later. That came after I realized that every time I tried, every attempt I made, Ashley was...doing things to you. Manipulating you in subtle, deep, primal ways. Pulling you closer into her twisted world, and further from ours."

He clenched his fist in front of his chest. "I... I just wish I could explain without saying things I'd rather not say. It still sickens me, some of what she'd done. Project Clean Slate was a new path. A new opportunity, and a chance to undo the damage she'd done. It was only then that I started trying to erase her, rather than embrace her."

Bubbles could almost cry with joy. "You mean... Daddy, do you mean you weren't trying to mess with our heads until after things had gotten really, really bad?"

His mouth flapped like a fish before he finally turned his head away in shame. He swallowed hard. "Bubbles, you... You were a serial killer."

"I know," she said, all happiness already vanished. "I remember most of it... Well enough to get the idea, anyway."

"You were damaged. Blossom was damaged."

Blossom said, "So from the very start, you were trying to change us? Change who we were?"

A lengthy silence. "Yes. Yes, I believed I had to. That if I did nothing, nothing would get better. That we'd all end up in the same, dark places."

Bubbles said, "Don't you get it? We were alone! Blossom chose to be alone. I was stuck alone. You... You, you son of a bitch, made sure you were alone. Playing with dolls, not living with your children." Beat. "Pardon my language."

Blossom continued, "I don't remember things really well. But I remember well enough. I...we don't want to end up like we were again. I don't want to go to that cold, lonely place ever again. And I remember enough to realize that, and want to avoid it. To be careful about making those mistakes ever again. I've learned, Professor. I'm a better, stronger person than I was. Not worse."

A disbelieving Buttercup asked, "Uh, you said Bubbles was a serial killer? What?"

Bubbles answered. "I was afraid. Mojo nearly killed me. So I... I killed him first."

Buttercup's jaw dropped. She turned to Professor. "The news only said he was missing!"

Bubbles voice started to break. "He... Princess Morbucks found out and...got rid of the body." She sniffled, trying hard to maintain composure. "Dad, you don't know how much she meant to me. She meant the world to me." She looked up, trying to catch at least a glimpse of his face before it was blurred by a wall of tears. "I was so afraid. So afraid and paranoid. Everyone was out to get me. Everyone was an enemy. I—I can't live like that anymore! I won't! Do you understand? I won't ever go that low ever again. I can't. I just...can't."

Blossom said, "Speaking of 'do you understand,' I suppose the two of us are stuck with that for the rest of our lives? Unless we let you go tinkering in our heads some more?"

For Buttercup's sake, Professor explained, "It's a subtle hypnotic nudge. A push to fully trust someone you already trust. I suspect that those words hold no power over you anymore. Not coming from my mouth. But that suggestion can be removed as readily as Kendall's and Bellum's."

"And? Who else? Who else have you tampered with?"

Professor counted off his fingers. "A few of our neighbors. Extremely minor memory suppression, like Kendall. And Mr. Morbucks. Ashley had tipped him off when I wasn't looking. Told him that Bubbles had killed his daughter. Of all those I've influenced, he's the one I definitely wish to leave as-is. If anything, I'd rather continue actively reinforcing his belief that Bubbles is just another victim. Otherwise, things will get...difficult for us all."

Bubbles asked Buttercup, "So did he tell you about all the others that came before us? How many other clones he woke up, decided weren't good enough, and killed?"

Her face softened. "No. He didn't say anything about that."

She continued, "He tried to kill us, Buttercup. Not catch us. Not knock us out. Kill us. Wipe the slate clean and start over with another batch. We've spent the last week fighting for our lives, tooth and nail. Hardly able to sleep out of fear he'd come jumping out of the shadows and end us." Her voice grew softer. Weary. "That... That we'd die and be forgotten, like all the others. Not good enough. Not...not loved enough. Thrown away like trash."

Professor considered his next words long and hard. "It's true. I believed, deep down, that I was not destroying anything valuable. Like trash, as you say. But only because I believed what made all of you who you were was still preserved. Safe. That what I was doing was little different than inflicting a little memory loss. Rolling back the clock. I saw each of those girls as extensions of you, not as separate entities. Effectively no different than the originals. To me, I was only putting you to sleep again.

"I'm the fourth Professor. I killed the second myself, because I was in a hurry and it was faster than getting a good night's sleep. That's how deeply I believe in this philosophy."

Heavy silence fell over them.

Buttercup broke it with an, "What the everloving cheese biscuits is wrong with you two?" Pleading, she looked to Blossom. "C'mon, at least you had to have kept it together. Right?"

Blossom took a few moments to gather her thoughts. "What I remember, Buttercup, is being depressed. I've heard that word before. I knew its definition. But now I've experienced it. 'Depression' doesn't even begin to describe that depression really is.

"I...I really missed you. I felt awful that you were gone. It felt wrong to go on living, when you...weren't anymore.

"But I thought there was a solution. A way to make everything better. You died because some hunk of alien supermetal got stuck in your brain. It came alive because of the Chemical X. Started growing into you. But after..." She looked to the crematorium portion of the chapel. "After your body had been burned away, that Object was left behind. It... I believe it spoke to me. In my dreams. Whether it's true or not, it felt real enough.

"I believed I could create a new body and put that thing in it, and you'd be back again. And now it sounds just as stupid to me as it probably does to everyone else. Especially because, when I created Ashley, I should have known she was going to be her own person from the very instant she was created. It didn't matter how much she looked like you. Or how much I wanted her to be you."

Blossom stared at the floor, as drained as Bubbles now.

Buttercup finally stood up. Walked over to Blossom, who couldn't help but tense. Wonder, for a split second, whether Buttercup was part of an elaborate ruse on Professor's part.

Blossom's tension faded when Buttercup embraced her. She muttered into Blossom's ear, "I love you. Now don't ever make me say that out loud again, you hear?"

Blossom smiled and returned the hug. "No promises."

Bubbles embraced the two of them, pausing briefly to wave Professor over to join them. His weary, sad smile mirrored hers.

After a few more moments, the four of them disentangled. But they remained standing together.

Bubbles said, "You keep saying Ashley is the cause of all your problems. If she's gone—gone for real—is that enough? Can we ever believe that this is over? That you're finished?"

He said, "It has to be over. The public—" He shook his head. "I _choose_ for it to be over. Maybe I could try to pull something elaborate, but I think I just have to let it go." His tone and expression shifted to something more stern. "But there'll be no more murdering out of you, young lady. Do you understand?"

Bubbles quirked an eyebrow. "What're you gonna do? Kill me?"

"Ground you," he said.

Buttercup dared, "Into fertilizer?"

Blossom couldn't help but play off it. "Six-foot-under-ground you?"

The four of them laughed awkwardly. None of them felt it, but they all needed it.

Bubbles said, "I don't know how I feel. About sleeping in that house with you."

Professor said, "Keep watch if you want. Sleep in shifts."

Bubbles shook her head. "No. That won't help. It's like you said: trust has to start somewhere. If I don't start trusting you now, will I ever start?" She attempted to swallow the dryness in her mouth. "I'll just have to bite the bullet. Hopefully not literally."

Professor said, "I certainly never want to do that again. I should show you some of the surveillance photage of Ashley's handiwork."

Blossom said, "If you mean the recording where you shot Bubbles outside your bedroom, we've seen it."

He was surprised. "Really? You saw that, and still took her side?"

Bubbles asked, "What do you mean? Ashley just cut through the power lines."

"So you didn't see the part where, with a few words, she sent you into a homicidal fit and frightened Blossom so badly she was cowering in her bedroom?"

Blossom and Bubbles exchanged a look. Blossom said, "Uh, no. We must have missed that part."

Professor sighed and massaged his temple.

Bubbles said, "Look, maybe we can try to pretend, for just a little while, that we're a big, happy family again. Go home, clean house, sit down, have dinner, watch a movie, say goodnight, and wake up in our beds and not on hospital gurneys."

Buttercup's face brightened up. "Hey! I know what we can watch! From when we were kids. What was it...Konah Kids? Do you remember that?"

Blossom and Bubbles slowly turned to face each other, expressions heavy and blank. They shook their heads at each other, slowly turned to Buttercup, and said in unison, "No."


	22. Room of Angel, Remix

Chapter 22

[Room of Angel (Remix)]

The next morning, Buttercup had retreated to her bedroom some time after breakfast. Professor and Bubbles had gone out to take care of Miss Bellum. Blossom stayed behind to continue cleaning and repairing the house, which she called cathartic. Whatever that meant.

Buttercup had demanded and received a backlog of three years' allowance. Which she promptly flew out to spend on three years worth of comic books. Bags and boxes of them were strewn over her floor. She noted with satisfaction that someone had taken the time to sort her existing collection, which made easy the work of figuring out where she'd left off.

A few of the store clerks had been in awe at the sight of her. The announcement of their return hadn't been made official yet. One stood in open-mouthed shock. She'd had to pile the bills in his hand, tell him to keep the change, and walk out.

There were still a few holes. Back issues she'd have to search harder for. But it was enough to keep her occupied for now. A pleasant distraction from everyone else's drama.

A knock at her door. She peered through to see Blossom on the other side.

"So much for that," she muttered. "Come in," she called out.

Blossom looked like she wasn't certain she belonged in here or not. Buttercup couldn't decide whether she hated the bossy Blossom or the timid one more. "'Sup?" she asked.

Blossom said, "Can I come in?"

Buttercup rolled her eyes. "I said, 'come in.' What do you think?"

Blossom smiled a little, then slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She took halting, faltering steps to Buttercup's bed before sitting down beside her.

Very closely beside her.

"Uh, personal space?"

Blossom awkwardly wrapped her arms around Buttercup, nestled her head against her neck, and said, "Please. I need this."

Buttercup groaned, but also smiled and gently squeezed Blossom back to show it was okay. For now.

Blossom said nothing. Didn't move. Didn't cry. Occasionally, she took a deep breath and sighed. Perhaps having forgotten to breathe.

Growing bored, but not wanting to deny her sister whatever comfort this brought her, Buttercup stretched her hand behind her. It caught a strip of sunlight pouring from her window. It felt warm. Nice.

She flexed and curled her fingers, reveling in it. She didn't remember how good this could feel. Even having Blossom close by, warm and soft, was kind of nice. In a way. Not that she'd ever dare admit it.

Buttercup closed her eyes and smiled, soaking up that tiny bit of sun with immense satisfaction.

Bubbles watched the door to the visitor's room while Professor worked with Sara Bellum. Bubbles's hand was no longer bandaged, and showed not so much as a scar for her recent troubles.

He paused to ask, "Are you sure we shouldn't come clean with her?"

"Later," she said. "There's enough hurt to go around right now. Let's just turn off her code words and stuff so they can give her a clean bill of health."

After a few minutes, Bubbles spotted someone coming down the hallway and warned Professor. He brought Sara to a stable catatonia until they had passed.

Bubbles said, "You know, this is kind of fun. Doing naughty stuff together."

Professor said, "Well, don't go thinking this is the new normal. We're fine, upstanding citizens."

Bubbles scoffed, then laughed.

Professor gave her a no-nonsense look.

"Oh, please," she said. She left her post for a moment to cross the room, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek. "You let me get away with murder. _Helped_ me get away with murder." She giggled and kissed his temple, gently squeezing him again. "I love you, daddy."

"Bubbles, saying that, then saying you love me, hardly inspires comfort."

"We have to own up to what we've done. It doesn't mean we have to keep it up, but we do have to accept it. I'm a murderer. You're a murderer. We're each others' accomplices. And we will be. Forever. For the rest of our lives. There's no changing that."

He sighed. "I wish I'd accepted that years ago."

Bubbles glanced through the walls around them to make sure the coast was clear for a while longer. "Daddy? Did you ever...do bad things? Because you were angry and knew none of us would remember?"

Professor took his time in answering. "Once. Ashley had just involved Sara, actually. Instead of carrying Ashley's body downstairs, I...sort of let her tumble down instead."

"Did it feel good?"

"Bubbles, I have work to do, and I'm not entirely comfortable with this conversation."

"But when will we have another chance to talk in private? Come on. Did it?" No response. "Did it?"

"Yes. But I never did it again! Or anything like it. I did... I was very angry with her. I still am. Maybe... Maybe sometimes that spilled out and made me do other bad things. But that was the only time I hurt anyone for sake of hurting them. I swear."

"Fair enough." She loosened the embrace, instead planting her hands on his shoulders. She again took another look around the facility. "So your magic juice could have regrown my hand if we'd had to cut it off?"

"It's science juice. Or you can call it regenerative agent. And, yes, we could have done that. I'm glad it didn't come to that."

"I wonder if that was Ashley's original plan. Lose it, then regrow it somehow. Amber thought that Ashley wanted me to be strong and not get treatment, and Father Record said that if we did that we'd have to cut it off to save my life."

"Does it matter what her plan was?"

"Sure it does. I mean, she got us as far as she did. Maybe she did some bad stuff, but there was some good in there, too. I'm sure of it."

"I'm not sure her good was worth the cost. But speaking of Sara's cousin, we should go take care of him once we're finished here. Spruce him up and fly him back home."

Bubbles sighed contentedly, releasing Professor from his grasp and turning around. She reached her arms behind herself, bracing them on the back of the chair Professor sat on. Essentially back-to-back with him, she continued talking. "It's kind of nice. A lot of the major, local supervillains gone for good. I'm not proud of it, and maybe it wasn't worth the cost either, but at least we can enjoy a little peace for a change."

"Don't you feel even a little remorse?"

"Oh yeah. Loads. But I can't let it drag me down. I have to inspire people. Make the world a better place. A little yin isn't going to take away all my yang. Besides, we've all seen how nurturing a little negativity can make it grow bigger." She absently kicked her foot back and forth, gently scraping it across the floor. "I'd rather accept it and move on. Not tiptoe around it and be so ashamed I can't even admit it."

"That's strikingly mature of you, Bubbles. And that makes me feel loads better."

Bubbles giggled again and leaned in to whisper. "So when I get a little older and start sneaking out again, are you going to wonder whether I'm going to take a life, or make a life?"

Professor turned his shocked expression towards her. Looked her up and down, uncertain who he was talking to anymore. "Young lady, it had very well better be neither!" He turned back to Sara, who continued staring vacantly, waiting for him to continue. He blushed hotly. "At the very, very least, not until you're eighteen."

"No way. Gotta do the killing before eighteen. Get tried as a minor."

Professor sighed and bowed his head.

Bubbles laughed. "This is so much fun! We're bonding!"

Professor chuckled quietly, bringing up a hand to rub his eyes tiredly. And smush away the faint hint of weary, giddy tears.

Bubbles placed a hand on his shoulder again. "I love you, daddy."

He wrapped his hand around hers. "I love you, too, sweetheart." He patted it and repeated, "I love you, too. Warts and all."


	23. Room of Angel

Chapter 23

[Room of Angel]

"Father, you shouldn't be up," the nurse chided. "You've gotta let your hip rest and heal up."

Father Record leaned shakily on a four-footed hospital cane, struggling to pull his black cassock back on. His white collar remained sitting on the table beside the empty bed. "There's too much to be done," he said.

The nurse glanced at the television. The PowerPuff Girls were the major news story. People had seen them around, but were still clamoring for an explanation. She wondered if she and Doctor Bueno would feature in the Utonium family's explanations. Regardless, she was happy to see that the girls had apparently reconciled with their father.

Hoff noticed where her attention had been drawn. "Atrocious. Absolutely atrocious."

"Excuse me?"

He held his collar in silence, examining it with a critical eye. He threw it into the wastebin. "Please, child, don't call me Father. It's Hoff. Hoff D Record." He glanced at the television one more time, unable to suppress a sneer. "It's time their sins come to light." With a great effort and clear limp, he made his way across the room. "There's much to be done," he repeated.

* * *

Lil Arturo, the sole surviving member of the Gangreen Gang, sat in a dark yurt somewhere across the world. A withered, weathered old man slapped his hand over a pile of golden coins, pulling them close. In his place he deposited a tarnished silver amulet, shaped like a skull, with emerald gem eyes.

Lil Arturo picked up the amulet with an evil grin. The eyes glowed faintly when he picked it up, dangled the skull in front of his eyes. " _La muerte verde_ ," he whispered with reverence. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the whole thing up into his tiny fist. "Death and vengeance."

* * *

Mr. Morbucks had left Townsville years ago. Too many painful memories. He sat in his spacious parlor, very much alone. He again swirled the two fingers of scotch in his glass. Still untouched after more than an hour.

He kept staring at the newspaper. The color photograph of what appeared to be Buttercup Utonium, taken from the video recording broadcast around the world the other day. The headline, "PowerPuff Girls Alive?"

His left cheek kept twitching. This was exaggerated by his repeated attempts to shake his head in response, trying to fling off some unseen sensation. Something clawed at the back of his mind. Not the sense of betrayal. The feeling of being made a fool by confiding in what he thought was another grieving father like himself.

Something else. Something gnawing.

Twitch. And again.

He flung back his head and downed the scotch in one gulp. Slammed the glass on the table and flung the paper onto the table in front of him. With powerful, heavy steps, he strode out of the room.

* * *

Sara Bellum sat on the barely-padded bed inside her well-padded cell, massaging her throat. Her voice was hoarse. Even now burned. Professor and Bubbles said that she'd had a nervous breakdown. Strained her voice in a desperate effort to contact Professor Utonium when Buttercup used her home to record a message to the world. She remembered none of it, even though the doctors confirmed this story as well.

Of course, she remembered conspiring with Professor to keep Buttercup's comatose state secret. Conspired with him and her cousin Hoff to pretend she'd been cremated instead. To keep the healing comas secret even when Blossom and Bubbles succumbed as well.

But she couldn't for the life of her remember _why_ she'd done that.

She continued massaging her neck. Wondered why she couldn't stop thinking about needles, fluorescent lights, and some strange word that began with the letter "M."

A nervous breakdown? Her? Over learning the girls were finally awake again? Wasn't that cause for celebration?

Professor and Bubbles had seemed a little too easy-going. A little too open-minded. A little too in-sync.

And she'd miraculously snapped out of her funk half-an-hour into their visit? To Professor's first words she could remember being, "Sara, how do you feel?" After half-an-hour?

Something about this didn't sit right with her. She would have to be careful. But she'd figure out the truth before long.

For now, she sat in her padded cell and rubbed her aching throat.

* * *

Something stirred in the magma beneath Mojo's volcano lair. Molten rock flowed onto a rocky ledge when an appendage reached out of the fiery lake. Then another. An odd, humanoid form pulled itself free, crawling forward, wheezing and coughing.

The lava dripped from its form, rapidly cooling and solidifying as it fell.

Mojo Jojo braced himself against the cave wall and paused, swirling something around his mouth. He spat a ball of obsidian onto the floor with a clatter and wiped his arm across his mouth.

A cacophonous, singsong voice emanated from behind him. Mojo turned to Him as He spoke. "Well, what do you think? How does it feel to be on terra firma once more?"

Mojo shrugged and grunted. "Beats hell."

"And aren't you eager to..." In a throaty, dangerous voice, " _Extract your revenge_?"

"Why?"

Him was confused. In His singsong voice, "Whatever do you mean—" gravelly again, "a— _why?_ _They defeated you. Killed you. Left you forgotten._ Why so ever wouldn't you want to return the favor?"

"Meh. Kids turned out all right in the end. Especially the blue one." He turned around and walked away. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to clean up the mess upstairs."

Him gritted His teeth. " _I should think you'd be a little bit more grateful to have been brought back from the grave._ "

Mojo stopped, waved his hand dismissively, and said, "I'm a Utonium. We don't do that."

"Is that so? You mean to just...go back to your everyday, ordinary life? Pretend nothing ever happened?"

He turned around and grinned evilly. "I'm a Utonium. That's what we do." He spun on his heel, fluttering his cape in that dramatic way he loved to do, and strode away before Him could change His mind.

* * *

Blossom left Buttercup to her comics. She needed some alone time. Not to sink into isolation again, but just to find her center.

She had to get out of the house. Wasn't sure where to go.

Then she realized that she'd never really properly mourned the loss of Professor I. Shot dead in the abandoned train station down the street. It was a quick flight away. So fast nobody would even notice. Away from home, but still close to everything that weighed so heavily on her mind.

She saw the damage. Gravel fused into a solid, rocky lump. Scorch marks and heat-peeled paint on the walls. Discolored metal of the railroad tracks. Wooden ties collapsed into flimsy ash.

At least now she knew what had become of the body.

Still, she took some time to stand there in silent observance. In a way, she still had her Professor. In another, equally real way, he was gone forever. The wonderful, loving, doting, sometimes-meddling father she'd relied on, cared for, and loved in return all these years.

Not that she loved the new Professor any less. But that made the loss hurt no less.

She found herself reviewing the events of the last several days. Spent time pulling at some threads of her distant, tattered memories. Fragmented bits of past that she was still piecing together, hour-by-hour.

After this had carried on for several minutes, she climbed out of the railway pit and onto the station platform. Took a seat on one of the old, weathered benches. Continued her musings.

Bits of her time with the original Ashley were coming back to her. Scattered images and impressions. Ashley was so full of love. It was hard to imagine that hate and hurt that Professor had conveyed to them.

She sighed. Their family still wasn't whole. They'd still lost Ashley. Lost Amber. There would be no bringing them back. Amber had seen to that. Blossom didn't know what they'd do, had they the option. Didn't know whether to celebrate or lament that the choice had been taken away from them.

Blossom tilted her head back, watching the sky through the rusted iron and broken glass overhead. She stretched her arms out to either side, placing them behind the bench and relaxing.

She could hear birds outside. Watch the clouds move by. Yet, somehow, this train station felt cut off from it all. A place removed from time itself. Not invited to participate in its flow. She wondered if that feeling had anything to do with Ashley's attachment to this place.

Her arms began to feel uncomfortable in their dangling position, so she stretched them out wide and gripped the back of the bench.

One hand brushed against something papery.

She turned around and leaned behind the bench, seeing an envelope wedged between the metal frame and wooden slats.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for it. Its contents were thick. Written in red crayon, she saw the word "Mom" on the envelope.

She swallowed. When were they supposed to have found this earlier?

Professor's claims about Ashley came to her mind. For a moment, she wondered if she should wait. Open this with everyone. Maybe even destroy it sight-unseen, before its contents changed the world in Ashley's favor once more.

She shook those thoughts away and pulled the flap open. First, she saw a letter written in green crayon. It contained a strange mix of immaturity and decent penmanship.

"Hi, mommy. This is the last you'll hear from me. You shouldn't be hanging around sad places like this. Please be happy for me.

"Tell Professor I'm sorry we didn't get along, but I'm glad he's happy now. I hope he can forgive me. Tell him it's okay he was too dumb to understand before. I'm happy he understands better now.

"I'm sorry I can't be with you, but I hope the new Ashley makes you just as happy. I'm sure she loves you very much. I don't mind I had to die and not come back so everyone could be happy again.

"Please don't miss Buttercup anymore. We couldn't bring her back right."

Blossom smiled softly, sadly. Things hadn't gone quite as Ashley planned. She was glad Amber had done what Ashley couldn't, but the sadness still lingered.

Along with the letter were three pages of crayon drawings. Mostly identical. The first had the word "family" written across the top. A crude drawing of their home and its three distinctive, circular windows sat beside the title.

Below, on green lines of grass, were five people. A medium-sized figure with long red hair had to be Blossom, and the smaller figure to her side had to be Ashley. Beside was Bubbles, then Professor, and then a fifth figure wrapped in shadow that had to be Buttercup.

However, in a column below Ashley were more Ashleys. Until the bottom of the page they stood alone, at which point the extra Ashley stood beside a Blossom and a Bubbles.

Blossom flipped to the next pages, seeing many lonely Ashleys. Now the same size as the other girls, as seen in the occasional Ashley, Blossom, and Bubbles triplets. A Professor joined the last full row of people. Well, almost full row, as the Buttercup on the far right had only featured at the top of page one. Just the original, and nothing more. At least, in Ashley's original vision of the future.

Below the "full" line of people was a lone Professor. Professor III. Seems Professor IV wasn't part of Ashley's plan, either.

It was clear this drawing was of all them. The originals and all the replacements, including Blossom herself. The weight of it drew tears from her. The Ashleys alone would require actual effort just to count, let alone comprehend.

She wiped away her tears and turned back to the first page of drawings, looking to their beginnings. Ashley, Blossom, Bubbles, and Professor held hands, together and happy. Only Buttercup, slightly off to the side, was alone.

Blossom looked more closely at the lone Buttercup. She'd thought her cloaked in shadow, lost in darkness of space or void. Really, though, the black lines were more...purposeful. They emanated from her green body like tentacles. Or tendrils. Curving. Graceful.

All the other figures had two black dots for eyes.

Buttercup's were red.

* * *

Author's Afterward:

Thank you for reading. Many times over for those who followed the series to its conclusion. I hope you found it worthwhile. I hope the series haunts you in the way memorable stories sometimes do.

And it has concluded. Teasers and stingers aside, I feel my part in telling these stories has passed. If the dangling threads are tempting enough to follow, I hope you feel inspired to follow them. At the very least, in the theater of your mind.

Ten years have passed since I started writing _Ladder_. An experiment, an exploration of horror that grew into something that stuck with me all this time. Likewise the encouragement, debate, and guidance of those who chose to speak up in reviews or private messages.

Those words mean the world to me. They have encouraged me to finally finish a significant writing project. Encouraged me to resume writing original stories and even pursue publishing them. To write for the enjoyment of others as much as my own.

But this space, this fandom, will always be a part of me. And as new stories come to mind, I'll continue to share them.

Thank you.


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